


Me and You and You and Me

by Kavi Leighanna (kleighanna)



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: AU - alternate universe, Angst, F/M, Family, Romance, tumblr prompt fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2015-07-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:10:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 91
Words: 43,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1463758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleighanna/pseuds/Kavi%20Leighanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompts & random ficlets</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. most trivial fight

**Author's Note:**

> Meadowundertown prompted: the most trivial thing Hotch & Emily fight over

"No."

"Yes."

"It’s too early."

"It’s April! It’s been spring for three weeks."

"It’s still cold. Mother Nature can’t decide what to do."

"That doesn’t matter."

"Of course it does."

"It’s spring, the weather’s warming up-"

"Warming. It’s not warm yet.”

"You’re being ridiculous."

"I’m being practical."

"You’re being illogical."

"Alright, fine! We’ll put the damn spring quilt on the bed!"

Hotch smirks. “And if you get cold, I have it on good authority I’m a furnace.”

Emily huffs. “Shut up.”


	2. Emily can't live in England

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked for Emily showing up at Hotch's doorstep to say she can't live in England anymore.

"Emily?"

Dark eyes rise to his, pained, broken. “I can’t do it.”

He steps back, because there have only been a handful of times he’s seen her look like that and it never, never looked this bad. She shouldn’t be here, either. She should be in London, running an Interpol office because that’s where she deserves to be. “Can’t do what?”

"I can’t… I can’t be in London. I can’t be that far away."

He sighs. She’d gone through this same struggle when she’d left. That breakfast hadn’t been the strong Emily he’d been used to. She’d been worn down and a bit broken. London had been the best decision she could make, even if she had agonized over leaving the team behind. 

"We’ve been through this, Em."

She shakes her head. “We haven’t. Not this. Not like this.”

He steps around her, holds out an arm towards the couch then leads the way. He hears her bag thump to the floor behind him and takes a moment to compose himself. Because this hurts. Having her here hurts. He knows what his job is and it’s not the one he wants.

He doesn’t want to talk her back into leaving. 

He loves her, that’s the problem. He doesn’t want her to go. He wants to wrap her up in his arms and just… Just hang on. But she deserves bigger, better things, things that the job at Interpol will open up for her. And more than that, he won’t drag her back to the US. If this kind of pained, conflicted Emily makes his heart ache, the Emily she’d been before she’d left had been so much worse. 

"I thought you were making friends over there." 

"I am. I have friends. And not just my cat."

That makes his mouth twitch. 

"But that’s not- That’s not why I can’t do it."

It’s the first time he sees the nerves, the way her fingers twitch up towards her mouth. An anxious tell. He glances at her hands, sees how short her nails are. “Emily?”

"I want to be back here with you."

He drops to the couch. Hard. That had not been even close to on the radar of things he’d thought she’d say. “Em-“

"No just… Hear me out?"

His eyes slide closed. 

"We both know there was something," she says. "We both know… God, Hotch we both did things for each other that teammates just don’t do for other teammates."

He knows that. The way he’d gone to her, to drag her on that plane; the way she’d watched him after the SUV explosion; the look on his face when she’d had to go ‘undercover’ with Viper; the way she’d been there after Haley… The list is long and almost endless. They’ve supported each other in much closer ways than just friends. 

"You were all I thought about in Paris. I asked JJ about you every moment I could. Then when I was back, when you offered to support me… For a few moments I thought, this is it, you know? We’re back, everything’s normal… But it wasn’t. It isn’t. Everything is… Everything is different."

He sits quietly. She’s not done, he can tell. He’s always been able to tell. 

"I just… I died. I coded in that ambulance and when I woke up…" She huffs. "When you’re supposed to die, when you cheat death, you wake up and you promise yourself that you’re going to do all the things that you didn’t do. Except the thing is, that kind of trauma breaks you a little. I was a mess when I came back, trying to get over the paranoia and the stupid trauma of being stabbed-"

He feels his jaw clench. She’s always been too damn hard on herself. 

"And then I ran."

His head comes up, meets the turmoil all over her face. 

"I ran. Because… God, I’m so broken, Hotch. I’m just… Everything, all the baggage, and I ran because I couldn’t be here-"

"You don’t have to justify moving, Emily." 

Because he gets it. Jack and Jack’s life is the only thing that kept him in DC after Foyet. But she hadn’t had roots like that. He’s honestly wondered since she left if Emily can put down roots. 

When he looks up from his hands her eyes are hard. “I don’t want to run anymore.”

His chest clenches, even as he tries not to get his hopes up. She still has a life in London. She will still have to go back. 

"I can’t. I can’t run. I can’t keep thinking of you back here, living your life, finding love, without me. I can’t. Because I can’t see living the rest of my life without you. And I’m sick of not jumping, of having to be patient and wait for it. No. I did that, and I almost died, and then-" 

Yeah. And then. And then she’d left. And then she’d taken a job across the Atlantic. And then she’d run.

"But life is about more than running an Interpol office. It’s exciting and it’s- God, it’s like nothing else, but that’s useless when you’re back here. Why do I care about my success when I have no one to share it with?"

"Em, you’ll find someone."

"I don’t want someone,” she counters. “I’m sick of settling. I’ve been doing that my whole life, doing the right thing, following the right path, the thing that just makes sense. But Hotch, this makes sense. You and me, makes sense.”

He’d known what she was implying, more than implying, but to hear it, to hear her talking about them as a joined thing, that knocks the air from his lungs. He sees her fingers clench then release out of the corner of his eye, a little twitch like she’s gathering her courage. When he looks up at her face, he knows that’s exactly what she’s done. 

"We make sense."

He breaks. “Of course we do,” he says fiercely. “We’ve always made sense, Emily, but that’s not all there is.”

Now it’s her turn to stay quiet and he’s thought a million times that this is why they work. They work because they know. They know when to talk and when to listen, when to pause and when to distract. 

"There’s your job, your career, and mine. There’s Jack and there’s the fact that you’re still recovering and-“

"And none of that matters."

"It all matters," he argues. 

Her spine straightens. “None of it matters if you want me.”

He sags. God, what a sucker punch. “You know I do.”

"Then-"

"I won’t do that to you."

"Do what to me? I’m here, telling you I want this."

"You want to leave your job, a job that was handed to you because you’re just that good, to come back to a country that made you skittish and nervous for a year, that you couldn’t settle in-"

"Yes."

Her tone is hard, unyielding. It’s a decision and one she’s set on if he’s in for it. But when he looks up at her he can see the nerves in her face. He can see her heart on her sleeve and Emily- Emily protects herself with everything. No one sees her, really sees her, and while she’d given him the biggest glimpses over the years, he’s never seen this. 

"Look, if you don’t want to do this, I’ll go back to London and everything will be back to as it’s been. I’ll leave you alone."

He almost chokes. No. 

"But Hotch, Aaron… We have every chance. Neither of us is getting younger. I don’t want to look back in five years and regret the fact that I never had the balls to tell you I’m in love with you."

And there goes his air. He can’t suck in oxygen. He can’t get his lungs to work and his heart is pumping against the tightness in his chest. “Emily-“

"I’ll leave you alone," she says again. "Just say the word."

He’s quiet for a moment. “I can’t.”

He sees her spine relax, her body sag. He doesn’t even realize he’s standing, moving, getting his hands on her face. 

"I can’t tell you I don’t want you."

Her hands rest delicately at his hips. “So don’t.”

And he leans down, does something he’s wanted to do for well on five years. He presses his mouth to hers. Her reaction is that of a struck match. She ignites in his arms, her body arching as close to his as she can get. He picks her up, carries her to his bedroom - of course he does, she’s here, she’s responding, she’s giving him everything he wants and he cannot say no - and kisses her as he sets her on the covers. 

"Emily," he whispers, then kisses her again. "I love you, too."


	3. Sleepy Jack refuses to go to bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dancertravelerdreamer asked - Hotch/Emily with a sleepy Jack who won't go to bed after a movie, even though there is school the next morning.

"Another one?"

"No, sweetheart," Emily says quietly, running her fingers through Jack’s hair. "It’s late."

"But I’m not sleepy."

Hotch gives Emily a look over his son’s head. Just ten minutes ago Jack had been rubbing at his eyes, leaning heavily against Emily’s chest. “Bedtime, Buddy.”

"Not tired."

"Now."

"No!"

Emily sighs. Jack’s not usually this kind of kid. He goes to bed when he’s told because he knows he’s tired. She’s not sure what’s got him going tonight, but she does know Hotch isn’t helping much. 

"Baby, it’s late. You have school in the morning."

His head dives into her shoulder and stays there, his little arms coming up around her neck. “I don’t want to go to bed.”

"I know," Emily coaxes, leaning back against Hotch. They’re dog piled on the couch, Emily’s favourite place to be, really. She has Jack’s warmth against her front, and the solid feeling of Hotch against her back. Her boys. Her wonderful, beautiful boys. 

"Five more minutes?"

"We don’t have five minutes," Hotch answers softly. "You have to be up for school."

There’s a tiny huff of breath before Jack’s head comes up and he fixes his eyes on Emily. “You’ll be here tomorrow?”

Oh. Oh her heart hurts. He hadn’t even thought about it, if she’s honest, the idea that Jack would be so affected by her absence.

"I’ll still be here tomorrow," she promises in a low murmur, pressing her lips to his head. "We’ll have pancakes."

It means she has to get up early, but for this little boy, it’s a small price to pay. And it does the trick because the sleepy Jack half wobbles back to bed, Hotch and Emily not far behind. When he’s all tucked in, Emily leans down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. 

"Goodnight, Jack."

"Goodnight," Jack answers around a yawn. "Love you."

"Love you, too."


	4. Emily punches Rossi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked - Emily punches Rossi

The thing about David Rossi is that it’s hard not to admire him. He’s a pioneering member of the BAU, a man who has all but developed half of the theories they work with on a daily basis, and he is damn good at his job. 

But he’s not good with the team. 

Emily, who has been alone and independent for far too long, hates it. She hates how separate he’s making himself, hates that it feels like he’s holding himself above them all. He is no better than the rest of him and, in fact, is undermining their entire profile and process by working on his own. 

And then he goes and shits on JJ’s job. 

Emily will put up with a lot of things for the BAU. She has. She’s a female agent who tends to deal with psychopaths, most of whom belittle women and disrespect them in brutal ways. But the one thing she refuses to put up with is this kind of crap. Mostly because David Rossi or not, they are a team, and someone needs to explain that to him. 

She doesn’t actually mean to hit him. She may kind of take advantage of the moment, a little bit. Fresh off their takedown, her adrenaline still itching, she slides her gun back into her holster, winds up, and cracks her fist across his jaw. 

"What the hell?!"

Her chest is heaving, her breath coming fast, her eyes flashing. “Things have changed Rossi. Change with them.”

Later, much later, days later when the bruise on his jaw has healed and she’s offered her sincere apologies (and Hotch hadn’t even had to say a word to her, though she knows he was just as pissed), he takes her out for coffee. 

"So, tell me about the BAU."

It’s the beginning of a wonderful friendship.


	5. Hotch and Hetty set up a team on a case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CROSSOVER POST: NCIS LOS ANGELES
> 
> dazzlingstarlight asked - Hotch and Hetty set up their teams to work together on a case - or just have a conversation about their teams, maybe over a cup of tea.

"Hotchner."

“Hello Agent Hotchner. My name is Henrietta Lange, NCIS Office of Special Projects.”

His back straightens reflexively. He can’t say that NCIS and the FBI tend to work together often, but the name, in his experience, strikes fear into anyone who hears it. He’s heard hero stories and horror stories about her and he’s pretty sure most of them are true. They’re too sensational not to be.

“What can I help you with, Ms. Lange?”

“I was hoping we could borrow one or two of your agents for a few days,” the ops manager says, though Hotch gets the distinct impression she’s not asking. “We could use their expertise.”

"Oh?"

There’s a humming sound that sounds affirmative. “Our usual psychologist is on assignment at the moment and a profile would be most helpful.”

"I can have one sent to you."

"No, Agent Hotchner. We would be most appreciative if you could send the agents in person."

Now he knows that there’s something afoot. “Did you have someone in mind?”

"Agents Prentiss and Jareau both have extensive undercover experience and top secret clearance."

"Agent Jareau has never been undercover." As far as Hotch knows, JJ did her office work and segued into profiling. The DoD was an office job. He’d checked. She’d worked out of the Pentagon. 

"Oh. My mistake."

Except there’s something in her voice, something extremely subtle, but it sets Hotch on edge. It always does when it’s his people. “Ms Lange-“

"May I have the agents?"

Hotch blows out a breath. He knows a politely worded order when he hears it. “I’ll have them on a plane in an hour.”

"Thank you, Agent Hotchner. I promise to return them safe and sound."

He hangs up the phone with the distinct impression that he had been all but conned into giving up his first born.


	6. Shh They're asleep - Kidfic Meme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked - "Sh... They're asleep." Kidfic meme for Hotch/Prentiss?

She’s, um, a little less than completely sober. It’s not her fault, they’re celebrating. It’s their anniversary and they have a rare kidless night. The thing is though, that she wants him, very much, and she barely manages to keep her hands off him in the cab on the way home. 

He gets them both inside. Neither of them are drunk, just a little loose and she doesn’t fight him when he presses her against the wall inside their front door. He kisses her, deep and hard, sliding her hands down her arms until he can wrap his fingers around her wrists. He lifts them, pins them over her head. 

"Aaron," she whispers with a giggle. An actual giggle. She is too old for giggling. 

Except then he’s laughing against her mouth too, bracketing her wrists in one of his large hands so he can slide his palm down her arms. His hand wraps around her breast, she whimpers. He shushes her, presses his mouth to hers. They shouldn’t be doing this here, they both know that. They have a perfectly good bed in a room with a door that locks, but her knees are shaking and he’s using her body to hold himself up-

When he pulls away, presses his mouth to her neck, her jaw, that bundle of nerves behind her ear. She shakes with adrenaline and arousal, tugging on the hold he has on her wrists. When he lets go, it’s only because he wants both hands on her skin. 

"Upstairs," she manages to breathe, pushing him back lightly. He gets her hand as he walks backwards, pulls her along. She kicks off her shoes at the bottom of the stairs - he’s going to trip over them first thing in the morning, but her priorities are a little focused right now - and laughs as they all but run to the second floor. 

He gets his hands on her when they’re both safely in the hall, and pins her to the wall again. Not that she’s complaining, especially not when his mouth dances over her neck again, and his tongue slides along her collarbone. Her body’s shaking now, not just her knees. She wants him, she needs him. She moans. 

"Shh," he scolds, breath hot on her ear. "They’re asleep."

She nips at his ear in retaliation. “Then let’s get this to the bedroom, Mister Hotchner.” 

"Yes ma’am."


	7. I think we should have another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh-look-fandoms asked - "I think we should have another." Hotch/Prentiss xD Gah they'll be my OTP till the day I die <3
> 
> Falls into the Years'verse (http://archiveofourown.org/series/72402)

Emily smiles, leaning on the edge of the sink as she watches her kids play in the backyard. Her kids. Plural. She has multiple kids. She leans heavily on the counter. It hits her sometimes, these moments where she cannot, for the life of her, understand how she got to this point. Sometimes she feels like this shouldn’t be her life. 

She hears the little squeals through the open window, looks out to see Jack’s let his sisters take him to the ground. He’s so good with them both, but she can’t help the feeling that they’re all just growing up way too fast. AJ’s four now, Katie two and Jack… Well they’re all just growing up way too fast and Emily doesn’t like it. 

She hears the front door open and hurriedly wipes at her eyes. It won’t be enough, not for Aaron, she knows, but it’ll have to do. 

"Hey," he says, leaning in to kiss her cheek. 

She smiles, hums. She knows her voice goes raw when she gets emotional like this. 

"How was your day?" 

She’s been off for the week because of too many back-to-back cases. That, and she’d booked the time. She hates how fast her kids are growing up. Aaron sends her pictures as often as he can - Kate’s baby yoga class, AJ’s violin recital, Jack’s soccer games - but it’s not the same as being around for them. And with Katie getting so big, plus the knowledge that she’s getting older, that she’s running out of time…

"I think we should have another."

His briefcase hits the floor, hard. Her eyes flutter closed. She’d known this would be the reaction, even if she hadn’t really known what she was going to say. God, Katie had been bad enough, there’s no way he’s going to agree to another one. 

"Another."

"Baby," she says, though she knows she doesn’t have to. She doesn’t turn to face him either, couldn’t take the look on his face if she did. She knows what’s coming. 

"Is that a good idea?"

She shrugs. 

"Emily, sweetheart-"

"Just- Yes or no, Aaron."

"It’s not that easy."

"No it’s not. I’m getting older."

"We both are. And you’re still in the BAU. They’re proud of you, they love you, but you miss a lot, sweetheart."

Her fingers tense and release on the edge of the counter. She should not have started this conversation. She should have never started this. She should have just left it go. She loves her kids, all of them. It’s not a question and it’s never been a question. She’s happy, very happy for what she has. 

"What if I change jobs."

"I’m not negotiating another baby with you, Emily." 

He sounds so offended that she almost snorts. It’s not what she means, really. The job thing has been floating around for a while, and it has nothing to do with wanting a third - fourth - child. She too hates how many moments she’s missed. 

"We said no more after Katie."

"I know," she replies. "Our lives are already chaos, we walk a very fine line, I know all of this."

She feels his hand on her back, his palm large and hot against the bottom of her spine. “I’m not saying ‘no’,” he says carefully. “I just-“

"No," she sighs. "I get it." 

"No, you don’t, I-"

"Daddy!"

He turns then, greets his kids, gives her a moment to gather herself again. Katie has this habit of being incredibly in tune with her mother and Emily doesn’t want to worry them. 

But when she turns there’s this look on his face that makes her breath catch. He hasn’t convinced him, she knows, but they’ll talk about it. 

Baby #4. Another thing she hadn’t anticipated.


	8. Your kid before 5AM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alarimercer asked - Emily and Hotch = "Mm…your kid before five in the morning.”
> 
> Also a Years'verse piece

The crash wakes them both. It sounds like pots and Emily groans. She rolls over and into her husband. 

"No. Too early."

"Your turn," he mumbles back, tugging her closer. 

She shakes her head, even as she wraps herself around him. “Your kid before five in the morning.” 

There’s another crash and Aaron sighs. “She’s going to wake everyone up.”

But it’s the third crash that does it, because it’s accompanied by a loud, long wail. Emily groans and Aaron laughs. 

"Shut up."

He presses a kiss to the side of her head. “You get Katie. I’ll put AJ back to bed. Maybe if we’re lucky, Jack’s still asleep.”


	9. Emily and Kensi discussing their 'special agents in charge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CROSSOVER FICLET - NCIS LOS ANGELES
> 
> dazzlingstarlight asked - Emily and Kensi discussing their 'special agents in charge.' ;-)

"It’s the intensity," Emily says as she leans back in the booth. It’s an odd trip, one where the timing of their case happens to coincide with the timing of Kensi’s and the two women can finally meet and catch up. It’s been too long, Emily thinks, since she’s been able to just sit and have a beer with a friend that knows everything. 

"It really is something," Kensi agrees, sipping her beer. "Do you ever find though that when they’re that focused on the job it turns you on?"

"All the time. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wanted to just drag him into a storage closet."

Kensi feels her cheeks heat and sees the awareness light in Emily’s face. “Okay, twice. The hacienda has two hallways not covered by CCTV cameras. No one ever uses them, they’re kind of off the beaten path, not really by anything…”

"Kens!" 

"You can’t tell me you’ve never done it!"

"Not in a storage closet," Emily retorts. "His office a few times." 

Kensi all but cackles. 

"Court days work best," the FBI agent continues. "Skirts."

"Undercovers," Kensi sais with a smirk. "Some undercovers are so much more fun when we get paired together." 

Emily laughs. “Did I tell you about the black dress in Atlanta?”

"No!"


	10. I knew it was a mistake to get the twins matching clothes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked - "I knew it was a mistake to get the twins matching clothes." Hotch/Prentiss

Emily looks up from her book to find her husband leaning against the doorway to their bedroom. He’s been fixated on it since Reid mistook Sophie for Ella earlier in the afternoon. “Oh?”

"Everyone mixed them up, Emily. Everyone."

"It’s always going to happen," she offers as she slides her bookmark into place. "They’re identical twins. If you’re frustrated now, wait until they use it against us when they’re older."

"That’s different," he argues, climbing in beside her. It’s really unsettling him, she knows, because he can’t make his fingers still, even as he tucks her close. 

"What’s this about," she asks, because she knows her husband. Mixing up their one-year-old twins shouldn’t be a cause for this much distress. 

"They’re so different," he says after a moment. "They have their own personalities, their own attitudes, their own… Did you see Ella’s face when Sophie put her hand in the cake?"

Emily chuckles. “Sophie’s going to get into all the puddles when the snow melts.”

"Exactly. Sophie’s chaos and mischief. She’s the secret agent, the quiet one."

Emily hums. “We are going to have to keep an eye on her as she grows up.”

"But Ella, Ella’s a princess. She calls attention to herself. When we were trying to get her to sleep through the night, we thought we’d always have to rock her to sleep. We had to carry her around. And it’s so hard to get her to sleep."

"She just wants to be part of the excitement."

"But Sophie couldn’t care less."

"She does tend to go her own way, yes," Emily acknowledges. "Honey, where are you going with this?"

"I don’t want them to be mistaken for each other for the rest of their lives."

"Aaron they won’t," she says, tilting her head so she can look at him. She presses her lips briefly to his jaw. "You said it yourself, they’re so different. We have about seventeen more years to raise them into different, confident, wonderful women." 

He sighs, still not convinced.

"Okay," she says, trying as hard as she can to keep the amusement from her voice. "Let’s make a deal. From now on, we never dress the twins in the same outfits again."

Now she feels him relax and bites her cheek hard. God, he’s adorable when he’s so deep into their daughters. But the ridiculousness of that promise is apparently lost on him because he smiles now, pressing a quick kiss to her nose. 

"Deal."


	11. hotch/prentiss making out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked - is there any way you could write a oneshot of basically hotch/prentiss making out?

He has a love-hate relationship with court days. 

They do have to testify every once in a while. Sometimes it’s not enough that law enforcement gets their profiles. They’re, admittedly, more likely to be called on in DC than anywhere else, but every once in a while, they get called in. 

Emily’d been called in. She’s a pitbull in the courtroom. He can’t say he would have wanted to go up against her. He’s seen her and she’s utterly unflappable. Nothing spikes her temper, and he’s pretty sure there isn’t a damn thing that sparks her blood pressure within that context either. 

But his is most certainly spiking. Court days mean skirts and dresses for Emily and she takes advantage of it at every opportunity. Today is no exception and his blood pressure spikes every time he gets a look at her. She’s just effortlessly sexy in pencil skirts and the jewel blue she wears does fantastic things to her skin. 

Everything she wears does wonderful things to her skin. He wants to get his hands on it, his mouth. He wants to slide his palms down her back and his tongue over her collarbone. He wants to taste her between her breasts and feel her legs wrapped around his hips. 

He’s divorced, not dead. 

"Hey."

His head snaps up and he watches her eyebrow arch. Yeah. He hates getting caught thinking about her, especially on days like this where he thinks that maybe he really sucks at hiding everything. “How was court?” 

His voice is steady, right?

She rolls her eyes. “It was court. We write them those profiles for a reason, I hate wasting a day talking to a bunch of pompous lawyers and justifying what it is we do.” 

He goes to open her mouth but she waves it away, stepping fully into his office so he can get the full effect of what she wears. God, she’s something else. She’s utterly beautiful and he’s having a hard time concentrating on what she’s saying. 

His door’s open, he reminds himself. Wide open. Anyone could come in, anyone could see. But that doesn’t stop the fantasy of yanking her to him, of bending her over the desk and lifting that skirt. He has to force himself to breathe, slides his hands under his desk so he can grip the arms of his office chair. Otherwise, he will reach for her. He can already feel the twitch in his fingers. 

"Hotch?" 

Talking. Right. He can make his vocal chords work. He is an adult. He is restrained and in control. Except apparently he’s not because he doesn’t even realize he’s around that desk until he’s reaching for her. 

"Aaron," she hisses, but there’s a breathlessness to it. 

"Emily." His mouth goes for her neck, just above the collar of her blouse. He can’t stop himself. He wants the taste of her on his tongue now, screw propriety and the fact that anyone could walk in that door, she’s here and she’s too tempting for his propriety to hold. 

"Oh my God. Okay. Jesus stop." 

He won’t. He can’t. He needs his mouth on her, needs her skin beneath his hands and he shuffles her back in those heels until he’s got her pinned just inside the door. One hand yanks on her blouse while the other reaches for the door. He uses his last bit of restraint to resist slamming it. Then he’s got both hands beneath her shirt, sliding over the soft skin of her stomach, tracing those curves. 

God, he needs her. He can feel the edge of lace beneath her blouse, knows she leans for sexy underwear on court days the same way she flaunts her femininity. He’d seen her hook that bra up that morning, thought about stripping her down. He probably would have if it wasn’t for their round in the shower. She loves the shower. 

He bites up the side of her neck, tries to resist leaving marks. He normally doesn’t, he won’t. If he leaves a mark, she will kill him. It’s the taste of her that keeps him from leaving a mark. He just wants her mouth and he takes it. God, he loves heels. She’s the same height as he is in the damn things and he slides his hand into her hair to tip her head back. He likes getting her to surrender, loves the fight of it until she just gives in and lets him have her. 

She moans and it has his hand splaying against her back, has him tilting her hips into his. 

"Okay," she says, pulling back and pushing at his chest with both hands. "We need to stop, Aaron."

He doesn’t want to stop, but she’s stronger than she looks and both hands keep him at arms length. She blows out a breath and does not help him when she tilts her head back against the wall. He wants to get his mouth on her neck again.

"No," she says again when she tilts her head forward again and locks her eyes on his. "Oh my God. Is this going to happen every time I go to court?"

He lets his eyes trail up and down her body and hears her whimper. Then she surprises him, leaning in and kissing him. But it’s too brief and he growls when she pulls back and even slips out of his arms. She dances back when he tries to advance on her and he does pause to admire how quick she is in those towering heels. 

He has to watch her tuck her shirt back in, put herself back together when all he wants to do is feel her come undone beneath him. She flicks her eyes up and laughs. 

Her eyes shine as she strokes a hand down her tie. It’s meant to be soothing, he knows. It’s just a tease. But her eyes make him a heated promise that’ll have to do for now. 

"Later." 

Then she’s striding out the door.

He has a love-hate relationship with court days.


	12. Possessive Hotch and pissed off Emily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked - Can you please write something about Hotch being dominating and possessive of Emily, causing some short-lived angst between them. I so love it when he's possessive.

"No."

Emily sends her husband and boss a baleful look. “It makes perfect sense.”

"It’s not happening."

Her eyebrow goes up. “Oh?”

Hotch shakes his head. “We’ll find someone else.”

"We don’t have time to find someone else," she counters. "He could be picking out his next victim right now. Let’s give him one."

"We will. We’re just not giving him you."

She rolls her eyes. “And why not? I’m a trained agent. A trained undercover agent. I’ve done this before and I’ll probably do it again.”

"You’re not doing it."

He knows she’s pissed. She knows that. And more importantly, she’s not going to sit there and let him do this. “Okay. A word?”

She all but drags him into one of the conference rooms and closes the door behind them. “What the hell was that?”

"It’s protection. You’re not going undercover. Not in your condition."

"My condition?” she says through clenched teeth. “I’m pregnant, Aaron.”

"And our UNSUB is violent."

"So is every UNSUB. I worked through AJ and Kate’s pregnancies. What’s so different about this one?"

"It’s dangerous."

"Everything we do is dangerous."

"You’re not going."

"That’s not good enough," she exclaims. "This is my job and I don’t care if I’m your wife, you are not going to treat me like glass. You never do, so what the actual hell?"

"You’re older," he says candidly because that had been one of her big worries when that stick had presented them with a positive result. "This is a higher risk pregnancy." 

She bites her lip. That’s true. And she doesn’t want to risk losing the baby, she knows that. 

"It’s about keeping you safe. Both of you. I don’t want anything to happen to either of you. I’m not willing to take that risk."

She growls, just a little. They both know he’s won the argument and she hates it. She is older, it is a higher risk pregnancy, and while it had been a bit of an accident, she wants this baby. 

"I don’t want to feel like less of an agent."

He steps up now, aware and careful because she could still bite. “You’re not. You’re prioritizing. Your priority is your health and the health of whomever is growing in here.” His hand rests on her belly button.

"Okay," she says after a moment of silence. "But we have to be quick about it. Let’s make sure this guy doesn’t get another victim."


	13. Castle Crossover - Emily and Beckett talking about their men

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CROSSOVER FICLET - CASTLE
> 
> Also, shameless plug for Memoir, but whatever :) 
> 
> Anonymous asked  
> Castle and Hotch talking about their ladies to each other or Emily and Beckett talking about their men... or both :P

"Lanie’s right."

Emily looked up at Beckett from the paperwork she’d been looking over. Sure, the case was done, but there were still loose ends to tie up. That and she figured she could take advantage of the fact that she wasn’t needed for this interrogation. 

"About what?"

"About you, about Agent Hotchner."

Beckett had Emily’s full attention now. The conversation the detective was talking about was one that was still fresh in Emily’s head. JJ had thrown her entirely under the bus on that one. But Emily also knew when to talk and when to keep her mouth shut. She knew she’d give too much away if she opened her mouth. 

"Look, you’ve been pushing me to see Castle, to see what he does for me, what he means to me."

"And now it’s your turn."

Despite the cynicism in Emily’s voice Kate merely shrugged, entirely unaffected. “You do for him what Castle does for me. He looks to you for answers, he turns to you when he’s at the end of his rope, the same way I look to Castle when we’re all out of ideas.”

"Mister Castle isn’t your boss."

"No, but he is my coworker," Kate argued. "Look, all I’m saying is there’s no reason to not take the chance. Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to tell me? You and Agent Jareau. It will be worth it."

Emily smiled, just a small one and just for a second. “You can’t know that either.”

"Of course not," Beckett acknowledged easily. "But that’s the whole point of taking the leap."


	14. Hotch and Emily = His office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked - Hotch and Emily = His office

“Stay.”

It stops her dead in the door of his office. “Sorry?”

He comes around the desk, towards her. It’s been a restless couple of weeks, he can see it in her eyes. He can see it in the way she acts with the team, the same way she had when Doyle had been haunting them. She’s separating herself.

“Wherever it is you’re thinking of going. Don’t.”

“Hotch-“

“Emily.”

He watches her throat move as she swallows. “I- The bad days are outweighing the good ones. It’s harder and harder to come into work every day, to see what we see, and go home alone.”

He doesn’t know what makes him do it. Maybe it’s desperation, though he doesn’t feel desperation (or so he tells himself). He reaches for her, gets a hand at her neck. He pulls her into the office, into him.

“Hotch, what are you-?”

“Stay,” he says again. “Stay here. With me.”

She’s going to argue, he can tell, so he stops it in her throat, presses his mouth to hers. It’s a moment, a shocked moment, before he feels her inhale and respond. Her file falls to the floor and her hands come up to the lapels of his jacket. She melts into him and it lights a match to the gasoline of his emotions.

“Stay,” he breathes when they pull away. “Try.”

She searches his face. “Hotch.”

“Stay. For a little while.”

There’s an agonizing pause.

“Okay.”


	15. Hotch and Emily talk about Emily's favorite author, Richard Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CROSSOVER FICLET - CASTLE
> 
> Anonymous asked - (I really love cross overs and the ones I've see of yours are fantastic!) Hotch and Emily talk about Emily's favorite author, Richard Castle

Another case, another UNSUB, another victory, another regular day in the lives of the BAU. They’re on the plane now, uninjured and relaxed, letting themselves unwind after their latest dismembering maniac. 

God, he thinks as he pours himself coffee, the way that sound so blasé should be a problem. This is his life, flying around the country, barely getting to see his son, finding serial killers and criminals and sadistic rapists. How depressing. 

Well, at least he’s got Emily, he thinks and heads back into the cabin. She’s curled up against the window with a book, by far not a unique thing. Emily reads almost voraciously as Reid, though not nearly as fast. He settles in beside her and tips up the book to get a look at the title. 

"Emily, what the hell are you reading?"

Her face goes pink. Actual, proper pink. He’s almost more surprised at that than the fact that she is reading a Richard Castle novel. 

"Do not mock me."

This is a woman who reads Vonnegut, who reads Shakespeare for fun and Anna Karenina in Russian because she can. This kind of popular fluff is not generally her genre of books. He doesn’t think in their years of working together he’s ever seen her even pick up a romance novel. Stephen King, yes, but Richard Castle. 

"It’s good, okay? I mean, yeah, I know who the killer is about the third chapter in but he doesn’t know that I’m a profiler. And you know what? We see so much heavy gore and pain and tears, it’s nice to read something light."

But his eyebrow is climbing and her frown is deepening. 

"I’m serious. This doesn’t make me think. I can just… enjoy. Unwind."

"You were reading Madam Bovary last week.”

"And I finished it."

"So pick up War and Peace.”

"I hate that book. Look, it might not be the best plot in the world and his characters are so painfully real people and he’s just… copying their reactions or whatever, but it helps me unwind. And don’t think I haven’t seen you sneaking James Patterson books onto the plane."

He shifts uncomfortably. With all they see he shouldn’t turn to mystery novels, but he likes the twists and turns. He’s a bigger fan of Grisham, but Patterson does in a pinch. Still, he knows the look on his face is less than encouraging because she huffs and learns over. 

"Keep your mouth shut and I’ll make it worth your while we we get home."

Well. He can’t very well argue with that, can he?


	16. And what if I don’t?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked - Hotch/Prentiss "And what if I don’t?"

"And what if I don’t?"

"Emily."

"No. It’s always my turn. I always go."

"That’s not true."

"Name me one time. One."

"I-"

"That’s what I thought. So, I repeat, what if I don’t?"

"Jack will pout."

"Not going to work. He’ll take my side. He loves me more."

"I’m his dad!"

"Exactly. So you can either go get the ice cream, because it’s totally your turn, or you can face your son’s pout when he asks for some after dinner."


	17. Take. This. Off.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> imnotacoptodayhoney asked - Hotch/Prentiss "Take. This. Off."

"Take. This. Off."

She’s picking at a damn sling because she’d managed to dislocate her shoulder on a takedown. It’s been absolutely brutal to have her on the disabled list. Not only is it becoming so painfully obvious how integral she is to the team, she is an absolutely terrible injured person. She’s killing him. 

"You can’t, Em."

It’s the same voice he uses with Jack and he even comes over, even strokes his hand over her hair. She’s high, is the thing. She’s got the good drugs right now and as much as she is terrible and whiney and he kind of wants to kick her out of his apartment, she is absolutely adorable. 

He sighs and comes around the couch, his other hand balancing two bowls of ice cream. It’s her comfort food, they’ve been together long enough for him to know that. 

If he’s honest, it’s just absolutely surreal to have her here. She’s back, in a way he’d stopped believing was possible. And if that hadn’t been enough, that first night back she’d shown up at his door and told him, absolutely and unequivocally, she was grasping this new life by the horns, and that included him. 

Even now, it feels so wonderful to lean over and press his mouth to hers, to feel her sag, even just a little bit against him. He’s promised himself not to take her for granted, not the way she feels against him, how she tastes in his mouth or how she sounds. He’s trying to imprint every moment in his mind because it still feels like she could just… disappear. 

"Bed time."

"No, sweetheart," he has to answer, helping her balance the bowl in her lap. "First six weeks you have to sleep with it on."

She pouts. “But everything hurts. I just want to cuddle.”

He bites his tongue. He wants to laugh, he really does, but he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings. And he is also quite upset about how careful he has to be when he pulls her into his side. But he does, carefully arranging himself around her and her ice cream. 

"Oh," she says and it’s surprisingly breathless. "Okay. This’ll work too."

This time he does laugh and kisses her shoulder. He nods to the remote in her hand. “What are we going to watch?”


	18. Hotch is pissed that Emily goes undercover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meadowundertown asked - Hotch/Prentiss. Emily has to go undercover with Viper! An Hotch is *really* not happy bout it :P ..

He finds her in the locker room again, fully dressed and checking herself for the final time. 

She looks beautiful. She looks… like something out of a fantasy. The dress clings to her every curve and probably creates a few he hasn’t noticed. Her hair falls in gentle curves and over her shoulders. Even her earrings draw his gaze. 

"You don’t have to do this."

"So you’ve said," she replies. "It’s fine, Hotch. I’ve had to do worse things."

He hates when she says that. He hates this whole situation. He doesn’t want to send her undercover with a man like Viper. His hand comes out, he doesn’t really realize it’s going, He strokes his hand down her arm, ghosts it over her wrist and fingers. 

"Hey," she says. "It’s fine."

He watches her glance around the room, watches her check behind him. Then she’s stepping in, brushing her mouth over his. 

"Look, it’s easy, right? Play him like he thinks he can play us." She shrugs, smooths her hand over his lapel. "And then a shower."

He huffs the closest thing to a laugh he gives when he’s suited up and worried. 

"I still don’t like it."

She smiles. “And your opinion is noted, Agent Hotchner. Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a bug I need to quash.”


	19. Emily and her adult son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked - Emily didn't do the abortion. Now she has a adult son to present to the team

"Mom."

Emily starts, turns in her chair. “Ryan, what are you doing here?”

Reid’s head comes up. “Mom?”

"I told you I was coming home this weekend. You said it was good."

"It is," Emily says, shaking her head, shuffling papers away. She’ll ignore Reid for now. "Of course it is."

Ryan grabs a chair, pulls it over. “Mom, it’s fine. I’ve seen worse.”

"I told you international law was depressing."

He shrugs. “It’s interesting.”

"Mom?"

This is higher, squeakier, and Emily sighs. “Reid, this is my son Ryan. Ryan, Spencer Reid.”

"The genius. Mom talks about you all the time. Thanks for going to the scifi movies with her by the way. I hate them."

"Ryan!"

"What?"

The conversation’s drawn Rossi and Hotch’s attention and Emily chews her lip. She hadn’t ever meant to expose Ryan to these guys. He’s been away at college, working on a graduate degree, safely out of harm’s way. And admittedly, far enough away that she doesn’t have to risk explaining who he is to her team.

She hates the judgment that comes with teenaged pregnancies.

"Oh my God, you’re David Rossi! Mom’s read all of your books."

Emily groans. “Kill me. Kill me now.”

"Has she really?" Rossi says with a smirk.

"Has who what? And who are you?"

Emily bangs her head gently against her desk. This is not going the way she wants and she knows it’s only going to get worse. Morgan’s going to poke for days.

"Ryan Prentiss," she hears her son say. "You’re Derek Morgan. The muscle."

"I’m going to take that as a compliment."

"Whatever floats your boat."

"Okay," Emily finally speaks up. "Know what? We’re going to head out. That’s enough of you embarrassing me."

"It’s just payback," Ryan says with a wide grin. "Remember my convocation? God, I was so mortified."

"Mortified. Two dollar word."

"Gonna pay up?"

Emily snorts. “Of course not. Come on. Out.”

They pass Garcia and JJ on the way out and Emily hears Morgan ask, “Prentiss?”

It’s Rossi that answers, “Emily has a kid.”

"A kid?" she hears JJ say. "Oh my God, no wonder she knew so much about babies!"

And despite the fact that she’s totally mortified, that she knows she’s going to have a million questions to answer, she wraps her arm around her boy, the one that’s not-so-little anymore and smiles.

"I’ll make you a deal: I won’t give you the two bucks, but we’ll go get ice cream."

Ryan smiles at her, a smile she recognizes as totally hers. “You’ve got a deal.”


	20. Hotch tries to convince Emily not to go to London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked - Hotch trying to persuade Emily to stay and not go to London during their 'date' the day after JJ and Wills wedding? Then he tells her he loves her and she can't go, but she just kisses him and says goodbye :( idk why but I'm in the mood for angst... Thankyouuu :) :*

"Stay."

Emily sighs. “Aaron, you know I can’t.”

"You can."

"I’m not happy here."

"How can we change it?"

"You can’t. Aaron, come on. We both know this isn’t good for me. I’m still paranoid, I’m still sleeping with a gun under my pillow. I’m still checking and double checking around corners and all the shadows. That’s not living, that’s surviving. I’m done surviving."

"I want you to stay."

"You guys are going to be fine without me."

"It’s not about all of us, Emily."

She knows what he’s talking about. She has to know. The way her head falls… “It’s too late.”

"Why?"

"Because I’ve already said yes to Easter."

"So change your mind."

"For what, Aaron?"

"For me. For us."

"I’m not whole."

"I don’t care."

Her hand comes up to his cheek. “You will.”

"Not if it’s you."

Her eyes are sad, terribly, terribly sad and she slides her thumb over his bottom lip. Her eyes dart between his gaze and his mouth and then he’s leaning in, kissing him gently. 

"I can’t stay," she says, barely a breath away. "I’m sorry."

He doesn’t stop her when she stands and leaves.


	21. Emily mismatching outfit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked  
> Hotchniss prompt: Emily and Aaron have a fight because he refuses to let her leave the house as he disapproves of her outfit choice and feels it's inappropriate.

"Ready to go?"

"Yup."

Except when he gets a look at her his eyes bug out. “Go change.”

"I beg your pardon?"

"We’re not leaving until you change?"

Her eyes narrow dangerously. “Um. No.”

"Yes. You’re not leaving the house looking like that."

"I’m sorry, did I lose my personhood in the last ten minutes?"

"We don’t have time to argue about it. Just change."

"I’m not changing because of your stupid masculine tendencies."

"I’m sorry?"

"Don’t play stupid now," she snaps. "You’re trying to control what I’m wearing! What about this isn’t appropriate?"

He huffs. “Emily, I know I am not a person who is fashion forward, but even I know that shirt does not go with that skirt.”


	22. Hotch protective of Emily because of Cyrus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hellyeah-criminal-minds asked  
> can you write a fic where hotch gets really protective over emily because of what happened it 4x03 minimal loss??? thank you :)xx

She just wants a shower.

She would literally kill for one, she thinks. Between the beating and the dirty of the tunnels and the explosion she feels like there isn’t a speck of her real skin that she can see through all of that. 

"Prentiss."

She groans. Out loud. “Hotch, hi.”

"We’ve got an ambulance waiting to take you to the hospital."

She waves him away. “I’m fine. Just get me back to the hotel.”

Because if anything, she’s got a couple of broken ribs and some pretty bad bruising. There’s no reason to tie up a hospital bed for that, especially when they’re just going to tell her to take painkillers at home. 

"You’re not fine," he says, stepping into her personal space. Usually, she’s beyond okay with it, but today it feels stifling. "You took quite the beating."

"Nothing some Aspirin and a hot shower won’t fix," she replies and manages a crooked smile. She aches, she does. Plus, there is a part of her that appreciates his concern. Thing is, she also knows he has a mile wide protective streak. 

"You’re going to the hospital."

"Hotch-"

"I heard you."

That makes her pause. What?

"I was the one on the other end of that mic, Emily. You are not okay."

Oh. Huh. She blinks. “I told you I could take it.”

He actually growls and her eyes widen. He’s been strange since the explosion, strange with JJ’s pregnancy and the whole ear thing. 

"I’m fine," she repeats. 

"You’re going to the hospital."

"Hotch-"

"You’re going."

She blows out a breath. She knows where she stands now, and it’s becoming clearer, despite the pounding headache, that this isn’t about her. She glances around, sees Reid sitting in an ambulance too, looking none too pleased.

"Okay," she says, dropping her voice. "Okay. But I share with Reid. One ambulance for both of us. Because we’re fine, Hotch.”

She wants to reach for him, actually, wants to wrap her arms around him and prove she’s okay, but she knows she can’t for too many reasons to count. So instead she grips his sleeve, tugs just a touch. 

"Compromise."

It takes him a minute, an obvious minute which is utterly terrifying, before he nods tersely. “Compromise. One ambulance.”

"Thank you." She starts to walk away, then turns and blatantly ignores the pain that sparks up her side. "And when the doctor’s say I just have to rest and take pills, I get to say ‘I told you so’." 

His smile is entirely involuntary and it sparks one from her in return. Yeah, she thinks as she limps towards Reid and the ambulance, they’re going to be okay.


	23. "Not a puppy", "Wisconsin", "I don't like you", "Towel"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked  
> Hotchniss with the following phrases "Not a puppy", "Wisconsin", "I don't like you", "Towel"

She’s been in the shower forever. It’s not unique. she tends to take long showers when they’re fresh home off of a case, but it’s getting kind of ridiculous. Dinner is almost ready and Jack’s all but chomping at the bit to get at it. 

"Emily,"

"Almost done," she promises.

Except he knows her. She’s not. She could stay in there forever, so he reaches for her towel and yanks open the door. She squeals at the gust of cold air and glares. He ignores her, reaching over.

"Towel."

"I don’t like you," she grumbles, but accepts the cloth. "I’m pretty sure my bones are frozen. Wisconsin is no longer allowed to have serial killers during snow season."

"Technically, he was an arsonist."

"You’re not helping."

He smiles and leans in, kissing her despite her pout. He knows her, he loves her, so he barely blinks at her grumpy mood. She’ll perk up in a minute. 

"Come on. Jack’ll only draw for so long."

He feels no guilt over using his son and he leaves her to throw some clothes on. When she does emerge, he gets the distinct pleasure of watching her pad over to Jack, pressing a kiss to his head. Jack smiles up at her, wide and bright. 

"That’s a good puppy, sweetheart."

Hotch winces. He knows what the drawing is, had to listen to Jack detail the whole thing while Emily tried to thaw her bones with half of the hot water of his building. And sure enough, Jack’s face falls. 

"Not a puppy," he grumbles. 

Emily looks up at him, a bit panicked for so obviously sticking her foot in it. He bites his cheek against the laugh that wants to bubble up and offers her a full plate instead. 

"Dinner?"


	24. Stay with me.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meadowundertown asked  
> Hotch/Prentiss . ” Stay with me. “

"Stay with me."

She can hear him. Really, it’s like a low murmur, just something on the edge of her consciousness. It’s not Morgan, like she’d expected. He’d been the one clinging to her, after all, the one swearing at all emergency personnel when she had a table leg stuck in her stomach. She wonders, in that absent way and with what’s left of her brain power, if there’s a worse way to go, being staked in the stomach. Her goth self is laughing. 

But the rest of her, from the little girl straight through to the agent and woman can only focus on his voice. She can feel his hand in hers, like he doesn’t give a crap about the blood that’s covering them both. He wears expensive suits. He should care about the blood. 

"Stay with me, sweetheart. You have to stay with me."

Well. Frankly, she doesn’t and really, she’s not sure she can. He does know she’s been stabbed, right? In the stomach. Left for dead. In a dirty warehouse. And he wants her to stay awake? Has he ever been- Oh. Right, Foyet. Well then, he should totally understand. It’s not easy to stay awake when one’s bleeding out. 

She doesn’t panic as she fades. She knows she’s going, knows because her mind is fragmented and she’s having a harder time clinging to memories, to thoughts, to him. His voice is distorting - and man does it sound weird - and the ambulance is going blurry.

"Stay."

She doesn’t.


	25. Hug Meme - near miss & from behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meadowundertown asked - 8 (near miss) and 17 (hug from behind) from Tumblr's cuddles/hugs meme

Dulles is a massive airport. Like, truly massive, and Emily’s been in her fair share of airports over her forty-plus years on the planet. It’s one of those strange situations where she’s thankful for Dulles’ relative size though. She’s got a layover before she heads back to London, and it’s a long one. She’d actually considered just staying the night, hanging out with the family she hasn’t seen in much too long. 

But it doesn’t work out that way. That, and she never did contact JJ. She’d had a better offer. 

Except her better offer is late and she’s starting to get pretty antsy. She has to go to her gate soon, board, and she knows that if he’s too much longer, they’re going to miss each other. It would break her heart, she thinks, because it’s been well on three months now since she saw Hotch last, and it’s not near enough. 

She wraps her arms around herself, staring out at the tarmac. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea, this whatever she’s got going with Hotch. Maybe it was better off with the possibility still hanging between them. Except now that she’s had it, now that she’s tasted what it’s really like to have him, she knows that even considering letting it go is the stupidest thought she’s ever had. 

She checks her watch again. Dammit. It’s getting too close for her precise heart to take. She’s going to have to go. Still, she pauses, and in that moment she feels two arms snake around her waist. She lets out a rather desperate sound and leans back into him, tangling her fingers with his. 

"I thought we’d miss each other."

Hotch smiles into her temple, presses a kiss there. “Only nearly.”


	26. Emily, JJ, Alex and Penelope talk injuries and scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily, JJ, Alex and Penelope talk injuries and scars.

"You know, the worst was definitely the spike," Emily says, leaning back on JJ’s couch. 

"I felt my electrocution burn for weeks," JJ pipes up, sipping her wine. "I swear I had phantom shocks running up and down my side. Will says I’d wake him up shaking."

"Took shrapnel once," Alex offers. "Just starting out. Never let them take it out on scene. It doesn’t matter how much you hate hospitals, never let them take it out on scene."

Penelope winces, though there’s a strange pride in her eyes. “Look at all of you. Badass chicas. Superheroines.”

"You’ve been shot," JJ argues. "In your own garden."

"Right. One measly bullet wound."

"I doubt that," Emily says. "You were on the streets for how many years? There’s no way you didn’t pick up a scrape or two."

"Yeah, but it’s not like you," Penelope replies, waving to the other three. "You guys take like, knives and bullets and bombs. I have a scar on my hip from being an idiot teenager."

Alex shrugs. “Bottom of my skull. Cracked my head on the pavement playing basketball with my brothers. Got another one from snapping my leg clean in two when I was seventeen.”

"I bet you didn’t cry," Penelope sulks.

Alex leans forward. “Like a baby.”

"Remember that time I got t-boned transferring a prisoner?" Emily asks as she curls her legs beneath her. "My ears rang so bad, I definitely cried that night. Couldn’t sleep for anything, even with the painkillers." 

It turns out, Penelope does have her fair share of scars. Sure, they’re nothing like Alex’s slash from getting too close to an UNSUB, or the tiny scar on JJ’s knee from a takedown gone very wrong, and definitely nothing like the four-leaf clover burn Emily never did get removed. 

What she does learn is that it doesn’t matter how awesome her girls are and it certainly doesn’t matter that they’re all made of steel. They all react, she realizes, and they all deal. JJ still has nightmares from her capture and torture. Emily is still paranoid, even with Doyle definitely dead. She’s not totally sure what kind of skeletons are in Alex’s closet, but she has a new view now of all her kick-ass heroines. 

They are strong and weak. They laugh and they cry. They push through and they collapse. But they’re hers, and she couldn’t ask for a better crew.


	27. Hotch and Emily's dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:Hotch and Emily's dance >.

She slides easily into his grasp and the world disappears. 

It shouldn’t, he knows, because Beth is here and everyone’s watching but he’s never really had that kind of control when it comes to Emily Prentiss. And now he has her in his arms, the light fabric of her dress brushing against his palm and he can feel her gun callous against his skin. 

"You look beautiful," he says, voice low. It won’t do either of them any good to be heard over the music. 

"Thank you," she murmurs back with a smile that is so gentle and a little sad around the edges. 

He knows, of course. He’d been able to see it the moment Morgan had stepped away. They won’t have her much longer. He’s glad in some respects. He knows she’s been struggling back here in DC. He knows it’s not right to her anymore and there is a part of him that’s glad she’s taking the leap now. 

But he also feels like a coward. Maybe an idiot too, but mostly a coward. He can remember the day all too vividly when Rossi had been poking him about Beth and she’d chimed in, said she was glad he was moving forward after Haley. Except he already had and he’d just never told her. It was never the right time, he’d always told himself. 

"Hey. I’ll still be around," she murmurs because she always knows when he’s on to her. "It’s- It’s an offer I can’t turn down."

One to start fresh. To start new. To start away from him. Because it had been too late when he’d realized she hadn’t wanted him to be with Beth. But she wasn’t one to stand in the way of his happiness either. 

"You’ll always have me, Aaron," she says and he feels the way her fingers stroke into his hair, realizes that somewhere along the way, they’ve stopped even pretending to dance. He’s just standing there, holding her, and part of him doesn’t care about Beth’s presence, about the fact that the whole team is around them, that Strauss is there. He cares about Emily. 

"Don’t," she says and he hadn’t even realized he’d opened his mouth. "Please don’t make this harder than it is." 

"Emily-"

She shakes her head. “In another world, in another life, I might have let you convince me to stay. But we’re going to go to breakfast tomorrow, and you’re going to be happy for me. That’s all I need.”

(He calls her almost every day. She knows every moment of Jack’s life, every case they work. He tells her about Alex and about breaking things off with Beth, even his Haley dreams. She listens to each tale, each lamentation and he wonders if it’s as bittersweet for her as it is for him.)


	28. coffee shop au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:coffee shop au Hotch/Prentiss :)
> 
> It’s like an AU of an AU because I had the most dire need to write my hilarious waiter again.

He’s been running the coffee shop for too many years. He sees the same people day in and day out. He talks to the same regulars. He smiles at the same people. He gets the same brats, the same prats.

And then they walk in.

They don’t do it together. They walk in separately and an hour apart and don’t even acknowledge each other. He orders a Straight Black cup, she a Hazelnut Latte. They both stay for about an hour, minding their own business, not causing any trouble.

Except he makes an entire backstory for each of them.

SB reads the paper. He wears a dark straight suit which says SB is totally straight-laced. He’s probably never broken the rules in his life. Actually, it’s a suit that makes him look like a fed, not far off from a possibility considering the DC locale.

HL on the other hand seems just a tad lighter, like she has a life, has been through some nasty experiences, but she’s found something in her life that keeps her happy. She’s a business woman, or maybe, like, a congressional aide he thinks. She stays bent over a tablet and he’d never managed to get close enough to see what’s she’s working on.

He makes more and more up as they make his shop a regular stop. He finds out SB’s definitely a fed. There’s a badge and a gun that he sees one day hidden beneath SB’s jacket. He sees a picture of a kid too when he goes for cash, but no wedding ring. Divorced then. Divorced with a kid and a fed. Can’t be easy.

HL is definitely an office worker. She’s well-bred too, sophisticated because she never ones looks like she has a hair out of place. And while he isn’t an expert, he’s pretty sure HL’s got a real pearl necklace. She’s definitely on the Hill too because he hears her refer to at least three different congressmen when he's eavesdropping on a phone call. 

One day, when he’s pouring SB’s coffee, HL steps up to the counter. She settles on the stool next to SB and puts her tablet right beside her.

"Hey," she says folding her arms on the counter in front of her. "How’re things?"

"Running as usual," he answers, already reaching for a mug. He watches out of the corner of his eye as SB and HL exchange a look and a polite smile and something in his brain shifts. They’d be perfect, he thinks, because he’s under the impression SB seriously needs some lightening up and the way her smile spreads easily across her face he thinks HL leads a deliberately optimistic life.

He stays quiet, holds the course and sure enough, HL looks over at his paper and makes some sort of ridiculous comment about one of the stories. Their usual hour becomes two, but he irrationally feels like it’s the moment his OTP meets and has their first moment.

The next time, they come in together. The time after that, they’re even holding hands.

He counts it as a job well done.


	29. Coldplay - Fix you (Lyric meme)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:'And high up above or down below, When you're too in love to let it go, But if you never try you'll never know, Just what you're worth, Lights will guide you home, And ignite your bones, And I will try to fix you' Hotch/Prentiss

When she comes back from the dead, he doesn’t hesitate. He makes it clear that he wants her there, makes it clear that he needs her there. He slips little candies into her desk, invites her to the park with Jack, makes sure he talks to Morgan and Reid and Garcia about treating her now that she’s back. 

He brings her lunch, the same way she had after his tango with Foyet. He makes sure she doesn’t drink too much coffee, and when he finds out she’s only drinking tea, he makes sure the kitchen, the plane, and even his go-bag is packed with her favourites. 

He has no idea if it’s good enough, if she feels at home again, but sometimes, when she turns her face to his, when she leans in and kisses him after a long day and a Disney movie, he thinks maybe he’s doing enough. 

Maybe he’s helping.


	30. Lyric Meme - how could I face the faceless days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> imnotacoptodayhoney asked:Hotch/Prentiss "Oh how could I face the faceless days, if I should lose you now."

"Hotch. What are you doing here?"

"Don’t go."

"What?"

"Don’t go. To London."

"It’s already done."

"Change it."

"I can’t."

"You can."

"So what, just call Clyde up? Tell him sorry, but I’m not taking an awesome job that he literally dropped on my lap."

"Yes."

"No."

"Emily."

"Why? Why should I stay? We both know I’m not happy here, you said that yourself."

"Because I’m here."

"What?" 

"Because I’m here."

"So?"

"And I’m in love with you."


	31. Lyric Meme - goodbye my lover, goodbye my friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:'goodbye my lover, goodbye my friend, you have been the one, you have been the one for me' ~ Hotch/Prentiss :)

putting her on that plane almost kills him. 

he knows she’s in good hands with jj, knows she’ll be totally safe but it still breaks him. they’ve come so far, pushed through so many things. but things are different now, so very different. 

he doesn’t know who she is anymore. 

doyle, jtf, the guns and the espionnage and the secrets… that’s not the emily he’d known, that’s not the woman he’d fallen in love with. 

he has no idea who he puts on that plane, but it’s not emily. it’s not the woman he loves. and his heart breaks all over again, because it may not be emily but he still loves her, the woman she was. 

he hopes when she comes back she’ll be that woman again.


	32. Pretending to be dating/accidental baby acquisition/road trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alarimercer asked:1, 8, 11 Premtiss and Hotch (tropes)

**1\. Pretending to be married\fake dating**

"Swingers," she grumbles in his ear. "It had to be freaking swingers."

He nods, he thinks. He hopes. Actually, he has no idea what he does because she’s pressed right against his side while they play married couple and she’s taken it that one step further with the seductive touch of her fingers in his hair. He has to keep remind himself of that, lest he forget and ruin this beautiful friendship they’ve been developing since Haley’s death.

But it’s damn hard not to just turn and kiss her.

.

**8\. Accidental baby acquisition**

She has no idea how it falls to her. All she knows is that one second, she’s clearing a house and the next, she’s bouncing a baby against her hip and sliding a knuckle into the poor kid’s mouth.

Teething. A teething toddler. This is not in the FBI manual.

She’s murmuring to her tiny, tear-streaked face when Hotch finds her in the crowd of officers. He actually pauses steps from her, taking it in with a look that thrills and scares her.

"Parenthood looks good on you."

.

**11\. Road trip**

_**post-502_

When Emily offers to drive back to DC with him, he almost jumps at the chance. He likes traveling with her and she’s one of the few people who has kind of worried from afar now that he has this whole ear issue.

He hadn’t expected to learn so much about her though. She sings along with the radio, for example, and shockingly, it’s not obnoxious. SHe curls up in her seat the same way she does on the jet and even props her pink-painted toes on the dashboard when she catnaps one afternoon.

He thinks she might be his favourite road trip partner.


	33. telepathy/truth or dare/sharing a bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:Hotch/Emily, 3, 9, 10

**3\. Telepathy**

She cannot read his mind, he tells himself. Telepathy isn’t a real thing so there’s no way Emily can read his mind. Even if the way she can anticipate scares him half to death.

She knows when he’s having a bad day, when Reid needs distracting. She knows when JJ just needs someone to sit there and when Derek needs to work things off in the gym. He’s even seen her come in some mornings looking a little worse for wear because obviously she and Dave have broken into his wine cellar. She’s always said her wine hangovers are the worst.

She knows when to bring him tea and when to send him back to the hotel. She knows what reports he needs and they’re always in his e-mail or file before he asks for them. She keeps a bunch of little snacks in her bag because they’re all utterly terrible at remembering to eat and she even knows when Jack’s having a bad day.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, her ‘telepathy’ isn’t so scary after all. It’s actually pretty wonderful.

.

**9\. Truth or Dare**

They are never this drunk. Ever. Too many of them have serious control issues that don’t let them indulge in this much, but it’s been a really, really bad case. The point is: they’re super drunk. It’s the only logical explanation for why Hotch, Rossi and Reid all agree to playing truth or dare.

"Truth or dare?"

Emily closes her eyes and thinks for a minute, trying to make a decision through the alcoholic haze. “Dare.”

It’s the wrong decision. She knows it the minute the word leaves her mouth and Garcia’s face transforms into one of absolute and utter glee.

"I dare you to play Seven Minutes in Heaven with our illustrious leader."

Emily licks her lips, her gaze sliding slowly to Hotch’s. It takes her a minute to get to her feet and then another to catch her balance. She surprises them both when she yanks him to her feet and doesn’t trip. Then she’s dragging him off to Dave’s office because the door actually closes.

"Emily-"

But her hazy mind doesn’t let him finish. She grips his collar and yanks him in. Their kiss is wet and messy but she can feel him against her and taste him on her tongue and she moans. The sound does him in because the next second he’s shoving her backwards and slamming the door with her weight.

Somewhere in the depths of her drunken mind, Emily decides truth or dare is the best game ever.

.

**10\. Sharing a Bed**

It only happens on the really bad nights.

She still has a key to his apartment (from after Foyet and before Doyle) and the first time she’d used it after her return, he’d pulled a gun on her. Now, when he hears the scratch of her key in his lock, he makes room and waits.

She has a routine. After she resets his alarm, she gets a glass of water from the kitchen and stops in at Jack’s room. Depending on how long it takes her to get from there to his bed, he can figure out how bad it really is.

Tonight it’s only ten minutes. Moderate. Even so, she creeps into his room and sets her glass delicately on the bedside table. He feels the bed dip beneath her weight. He doesn’t ask questions, just reaches out a hand. She slides her palm against his and weaves their fingers together. Then she closes her eyes and falls asleep.


	34. Lyric Meme - hey say it's what you make

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:'They say it's what you make, I say it's up to fate, it's woven in my soul, I need to let you go' Hotch/Prentiss xo

it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. 

the late august sun and heat doesn’t seem to faze any of them. what does is the somber way they pack up boxes, the quiet way they pack up a whole life. they try and laugh, to make light of things but they can’t seem to do it. even the music doesn’t help, floating through the apartment through morgan’s phone. 

everything just hurts. 

because he knows he can’t stop her. he knows there’s nothing he can do. this is something she has to take care of, that she has to battle on her own. she’s tried, he knows, to fight it here, to find a normalcy that just doesn’t exist in dc anymore. it hurts so much to consider that, to understand that being with them, being with her family, is no longer enough. 

but nothing hurts more than hugging her goodbye.


	35. Lyric Meme - (Wicked) I'm not that girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> imnotacoptodayhoney asked:Hotch/Prentiss "That's the girl he chose, and Heaven knows I'm not that girl."

she watches them in that hospital room, the way he reaches out for haley despite their separation, the way jack cuddles into his side. 

she knows she doesn’t matter. 

it doesn’t matter that they’ve shared touches, that they’ve shared heated looks. it doesn’t matter that everyone and their cousin asks her if they’re together, that she may or may not (in her weakest moments of course) have imagined what their life would be like later, with jack and maybe a kid who shares their genetics. 

but that’s not what this is. that’s not who she is. 

because the way that he watches haley, the pain in his face as he tells his ex-wife that he has to send her into witsec, she knows that she’s nothing. she will never be what she wants to be. 

she will always be up against haley. 

she will always be second best.


	36. Lyric Meme - Could you cry a little?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> imnotacoptodayhoney asked:Hotch/Prentiss "Could you cry a little? Lie just a little? Pretend that you're feeling a little more pain."

It takes awhile, he thinks. Longer than he’d expected, if he’s honest, and not because Emily’s weak or anything like that. Simply because of timing, because that’s the way the world works and she’s generally tougher than she looks. 

But it happens. 

She shows up on his doorstep the same day the committee hearing finishes, the same day she agrees to return to the BAU and he lets her in without a word. He doesn’t need them, they don’t need them. They haven’t for a long time. 

Still, he waits for a signal from her, waits for her to decide what she wants. And sure enough, a moment later, her face crumples and she steps into him, her arms wrapping around his waist. Her hot tears splash against his neck, soak the edge of his t-shirt, and her sobs shake her whole body. 

He doesn’t shush her, doesn’t tell her that everything’s okay. That’s not what this is about. So he just holds on while she finally, finally cries it all out.


	37. Emily & Hotch in the hospital post-Doyle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:Hotch staying with Emily in the ambulance and hospital after she was staked by Doyle, and being quite affectionate :) thanks :)

He can’t let her go. He won’t let her go. He’s managed to muscle his way into the ambulance with her (and had to fight Morgan for it, because Emily’s his best friend and watching her bleed out on the floor, he kind of deserved to be the one to accompany the EMTs) and he sits still as can be as the medics work around him. He has her hand gripped in his, close and tight, has to resist pulling it to his own chest. 

Come on Emily, he thinks. Don’t let go now. Not when we’re so close.

Because they are. They’ve been going back and forth about it, about finally telling the team. And he’s not blind, he’s known something’s been off, but this? A whole other life that she’s had hidden away from all of them? This is nothing he’d expected. 

He leans down, can’t help himself, and presses his mouth to her terribly dirty forehead. He doesn’t care though. All he cares about is the way her skin feels beneath his, the way he can smell her as he rests there. Tears sting his eyes and he doesn’t care, just sits at her head. 

"You can’t go," he says into her skin. "You can’t leave now. Jack’s just settled into the idea of having you forever, I’m just settling into the idea of having you forever. You can’t go just when we’re getting started, Emily. You can’t.”

She doesn’t say anything. She’s long-unconscious and he thinks maybe the medics have given her something to keep her that way. He’s glad, he thinks, isn’t sure he’d be able to take the pain in her eyes, but at the same time, it’s breaking his heart. He can’t see her eyes, doesn’t have her saying a thing. He wants her to promise him she’s going to be okay, wants her to tell him that he’s being ridiculous and when she can walk again they’re going to throw that barbeque they’ve been talking about to share their happy news with the team. 

He’d had plans then too, plans that involve the little velvet box tucked away in his bedside drawer. 

But now as he watches her bleed, as he feels her hand go cold in his, he can’t help the absolute fear that none of that will come to fruition. 

And if that’s the end, if they lose her, Hotch will have no choice but to hunt Ian Doyle down and end him. 

No one gets away with killing Emily Prentiss. 

Ever.


	38. last words to each other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:What will their last words to each other be? Hotch/Prentiss

He goes first.

It’s been a long hard battle, his own wartorn body finally giving out. She’s with him at the time, watches as he struggles for breath. She knows that this is the end, that these are their last moments and her throat is entirely clogged with all of the words she wants to say.

“Sweetheart,” he wheezes, eyes trying so hard to look at her.

She shushes him, knows her voice sounds shakey and forces herself to clear her throat, to try again. “Don’t talk.”

He offers her a weak smile, squeezes her hand with the tiny bit of strength he has left. Her smile trembles around the edges because all she wants is to bury his face in his chest and beg him to stay. But he’s been fighting too long now and she knows his body’s giving out.

But that fighting spirit’s still in there and he forces his eyes open so he can look at her. “I love you,” he rasps. “I love you for taking a chance on me, for fighting for me, for chasing me, for giving me our wonderful children. I love you for adopting Jack as your own, and never treating him as any thing less than your own kid.”

The tears are rolling down her face now because she knows what it means. She knows she has moments.

“I love you for loving me. For putting up with me. For being my partner. For being you.”

She sniffles and leans into kiss him, can’t help herself. She knows it’s his last bit of energy, sees the way he’s panting. “I love you,” she answers. “Beyond forever.”

She knows he takes it as permission because his chest slows at an alarming rate, and the time between the beeping of the heart monitor lengthens. She hiccups when he flatlines, when his heart stops beating. She lets her head fall to his unmoving chest and she sobs in grief.


	39. Nurse me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alarimercer asked:Nurse me! hotchniss

"Why am I so hungover?"

Hotch smiles into Emily’s hair as she’s finally yanked unceremoniously from slumber. He wants to make fun of her, to tell her that she’d sworn to stay away from Garcia’s mixed drinks and hadn’t abided by that rule last night, but he also knows better. Instead, he strokes at her hair gently, gets his fingers against her scalp to scratch. She almost purrs. 

"Don’t stop."

He leans in, presses his mouth to her head. “How about we pause?” 

"No. Feels good."

"It’ll feel better after Aspirin and water."

"In a minute."

He wants to argue, but she snuggles in closer and buries her face in his neck and he just can’t bring himself to let go.


	40. Break me + jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:Break Me - Hotch/Prentiss + jealousy

It shouldn’t bother her, finding out about Beth the way she does. And honestly, there’s a part of her that’s glad he’s moving on. He should, she thinks. He has so much to give, so much heart he doesn’t bring out all that often, but she knows from first hand experience definitely exists. 

That doesn’t make it easier though. 

It actually breaks her heart a little, if only because eighteen months ago she knows it could have been her. Before Doyle. Before they all found out what she’s truly capable of. Before they realized she’d loved a monster. 

(Well loves. There’s something about Ian… But that’s another story for another time.)

But she isn’t that girl. She’d known that long ago, and will long after knowing that he can do so much better than her. Beth is whole and wholesome, a lot like Haley in that regard. She’s stable, isn’t emotionally damaged… All the things that Hotch and Jack need. Not her, not with her boatload of luggage and trust issues she cannot shake. He’s picked Beth. Emily can respect that. Really she can. 

But it hurts. Oh God, does it hurt. It hurts to have her at his marathon (and it has nothing to do with the Russia-sized hangover she’s dealing with) and hurts to see her when they go out together. She thinks Rossi knows, because he hangs closer to her most nights, supports her more, makes sure she gets home in one piece and not drunk enough to suffer through the office in the morning.

But Hotch… Hotch is oblivious. She can’t blame him, since most of the team is as well, like it’s something they thought about, but now that Hotch has Beth, they’ve kind of thrown the idea of Hotch with someone else out the window. 

So instead of being a part of it, being the one who gets to kiss him, to cling to his arm, to dance without fear, she’s relegated to the corner.

Alone.


	41. Fight me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alarimercer asked:Fight me! Hotchniss

"Ouch."

She blinks her eyes open, tries to get the breath back in her. Hotch is above her, hands on his knees. 

"Done?"

She snorts. “Of course not. I’ve been tortured. There is nothing you can do to hurt me worse than that.”

He offers his hand and she takes it, pulls herself up, ponytail swinging. 

"That’s not funny."

She shrugs. “It is, a bit.” She falls into her fighting stance, eyes watching his every muscle twitch. “You have to stop treating me with kid gloves.”

He arches an eyebrow at her and gets rolled eyes in return. 

"You are," she says, because that’s the argument he wants to make. She’s rusty in her formal hand-to-hand, sure, but he’s been babying her in the field too, when she has a gun and the stakes are much higher. He may be kicking her ass here, but when it comes to her aim, her strength, her resilience… well, nothing much has changed. And yet, she’s been in precincts more than anything else, interviewing witnesses, babysitting families and those are things that they tend to share the wealth about. 

"You’re recovering."

She rolls her eyes. “I’ve been cleared by two psychologists and all of my doctors, both French and American.”

"You lied to one of those psychologist."

"About my cat!"

She’s indignant enough that she’s not paying attention as he swings in and catches her entirely off-guard. A moment later, she’s on her back again, all but growling. 

"That wasn’t fair."

"Unsubs won’t be fair."

She does growl this time and he’s on the defensive immediately. The thing is, she doesn’t swing at him. Instead, she fists her hand in the sweat stain on the front of his t-shirt and yanks him into her. Her kiss is aggressive, teeth nipping at his lip, her other hand white-knuckled in the fabric at his waist. 

"Does that feel like I’m not okay?"

His sweaty hands brush the hair out of her face, those damn wisps that she can never make stay. 

"Humour me."

(A handful of rounds later, they’re about equal in their takedowns and he’s grinning at her. She can’t help but grin back, in part because he’s so damn handsome when he smiles, but also because she knows he believes her now.)


	42. Hotch/Emily/Doyle drabble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:Is your ask box still open, birthday girl? If it is, how about a Hotch/Emily/Doyle drabble? Happy birthday girl!

Emily thinks she’s been in love twice.

Well and truly in love, not the infatuation of a teenager or the pure first love of young adulthood. In love in the way that tears her apart and puts her back together in the same breath with a helpless vulnerability she cannot help but feel.

Twice.

Ian Doyle had been a mark. At first. But the problem Emily had soon discovered about undercover work had been the way it sneaks under your skin. She hadn’t meant to fall for Doyle, of course, but she had. It had been a fall she hadn’t been ready for and then one day, she’d turned to look up at him and just bloody well known.

It had been wonderful, if she’s honest. There’s a thrill in playing the arms dealer, in watching his face light with fierce passion. There’s no thrill in the kill, in the things she had to do as Lauren Reynolds, but Ian… Ian had been different. He’d been passionate and almost sweet, ruthless and protective, but Emily had learned his heart. She’d loved that heart deeply and fiercely and she knows he’d loved her back.

(Sometimes she wonders, if things were different, if Ian would love her know, would love her as Emily Prentiss, with all of her baggage and without any of her backstopping. She thinks he might, since she knows that the ruthlessness she had shown hadn’t all been for the job. Sometimes she imagines it. Sometimes she has to remind herself not to.)

Aaron Hotchner had snuck up on her. Her damn boss of all people, a man with more baggage than she has - and it’s added to by Foyet, by Haley, by Haley’s death at Foyet’s hands - and all she’d wanted to do was help. She’s always been good at spotting the damage, at working with a person to heal it and she takes that role with Hotch as things dissolve with Haley. 

And somewhere along the line, she’d fallen in love. She’s not sure where, how he’d managed to get into a heart she’d protected even more after things with Doyle had completely shattered, but he does. He settles right in, like he was supposed to be there all along and it takes her almost too long to figure it out. 

(She never wonders if things were supposed to be different; if she had been meant for him. It just never comes up in her mind. She never questions his trust, his love, his faith. She never has to worry that he’s going to walk away, that he’s going to be hunted down now that Foyet’s dead and his enemies are all jailed for life. 

Sometimes, it’s surreal. 

Sometimes, she feels so intensely lucky. 

Most of the time, she just accepts their love as fact, and thinks it’s a beautiful thing.)


	43. Hotch is the one inside Cyrus' compound with Emily, not Reid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> imnotacoptodayhoney asked:prompt: Hotch is the one inside Cyrus' compound with Emily, not Reid

Smoke is thick in the air and all she can smell, but she searches the survivors frantically. He has to be here. He just has to. She doesn’t know what she’s going to do if she can’t find him in the chaos, if he didn’t make it out. 

She catches sight of his limping figure, silhouetted against the blackness, against the bright oranges and yellows that make up what used to be Cyrus’ compound. She doesn’t realize she’s moving until she’s throwing herself into his arms. He makes an ‘oof’ sound, then groans and she’s immediately pulling back. 

"Sorry. God, I’m sorry I-"

But then he’s grabbing on, yanking him back into her and he doesn’t seem to bloody care about the injuries Rossi says he must have endured from Cyrus’ beating. Even so, she gives as good as she gets, trying with all her might to swallow the tears crawling up her throat. Except she can’t, especially when he threads his fingers through her tangled hair and just holds on. 

She’s sobbing into his shirt - she has no idea where his jacket is and quite frankly, doesn’t care - shaking and trembling. It takes her longer than she’d like to manage to catch her breath, to make herself stop crying. 

"Never again," she tells him, finally lifting her head from the crook of his neck. "Don’t you ever- I can’t-"

Then his mouth is on hers, cutting her off as he discovers just how deep the taste of her goes. Her head tilts back, lets him take her, feels her world stop spinning as she focuses on his hands and his mouth and the scent of him around her. 

He pulls back and she realizes that somewhere along the line, he’s planted his sooty hands on her cheeks. It’s an acrid smell that floats into her nose behind it, smoke and blood but then there’s him, warm and real and the tingling from her swollen mouth. 

"Never again," he promises.


	44. Annoying habits/first fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alarimercer asked:Hotchniss 8 and 14
> 
> 8\. Do either of them have habits that annoy the other?  
> 14\. What was their first fight about?

She’s going to kill him. She’s going to maim him, then kill him. She’s going to torture him, maim him and kill him. 

"Are you trying to get yourself killed?" 

He recoils as she smacks at him, as she whacks his arm with more strength than he’d really been aware of. She’s strong, of course, but he always forgets just how strong she really is. It’s going to leave a bruise. 

"You and your damn hero complex, and your damn need to save the whole damn world without thinking about the fact that you’re leaving your son behind, that you’re leaving me behind and-"

"Emily-"

"No!" 

She’s almost hysterical and she hates it. She abhors it. She’s not this woman. She’s stronger than this, trusts him, but when she’d heard the way he’d attacked a damn UNSUB, the way he’d gone after the guy without a damn care to whom he’d leave behind… It’s just stupidity. Plain stupidity. 

"You had choices! You could have waited. We weren’t that far away, you only had to wait five damn minutes and you couldn’t even do that."

"There wasn’t time-"

She hits him again. Hard. “There’s always time. There’s always back up. It’s not always being the big damn hero. What the hell, Aaron?”

And maybe it’s his given name that clues him in because an awareness flares in his gaze. “You would have done the same thing.”

She swallows. “This isn’t about me.”

"Isn’t it?" His voice is low as he steps closer, as he gets his palm on her hip. "Don’t we all want to be big damn heroes?" 

She growls in her throat, even as her hand wraps in his lapel. “You can’t do that. You just can’t-“

And she’s given it all away, just how much he means to her. He means too much, she knows, because she’s been protecting herself what with a fresh divorce and his general standoffishness that he can’t seem to overcome no matter what and-

His free hand palms her skull, like he doesn’t care that they’re in his office with his door open (even though the blinds are closed). It’s a move he uses when he wants her, when he can’t seem to keep his hands off her. He does it when he wants her attention, when he thinks she’s getting irrational because it pins the length of her body against his and holds her there. 

"I didn’t have a choice," he says against her temple. "I couldn’t wait."

"You can always wait." But her voice sounds shaky, like she knows he couldn’t, like she was more terrified than angry and she hates it. Hates how vulnerable he makes her. She is not this woman. 

"I’m okay," he says. "I’m safe."

"Until next time."

And yet she knows. She knows that there will be a next time, that she honestly can’t stop him. She knows, logically, she’d do the same thing. They have that, the need to rescue, to save, to make lives better. 

"This is the job. For both of us."

Not that she knows he’d do anything different. 

"I’m alive. You’re alive." 

She’s still going to kill him, she thinks, even as he inches closer, as she feels the desperation well in her again. She’s still going to maim him. Just… Just after-

Her kiss is just as aggressive as his is, life-affirming, the release of anger and pent up emotion. They all but devour each other, uncaring of his open office door. This is more important, way more important. Smell, taste, touch, life. 

"I’m still mad at you."

There’s a secret smile in his eyes though, like he doesn’t believe her. “Of course you are.” 

(Later, sprawled across his chest in bed, she can’t remember why she was so mad.)


	45. First kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:how did their first kiss go? Hotch/Prentiss

It’s not as much of a surprise as it maybe should be. They’re friends, so they spend time together, and maybe over the last two months they’ve been getting, er, friendly off the job. She doesn’t hesitate to touch him now, reaches out and links her arm with his when they’re wandering through a park or museum. 

(Turns out Jack can’t get enough of the dinosaurs, so she’s at the Smithsonian every other week or so, work depending.)

So it’s one of those days, one of those nights actually, where she’s cuddled against him on the couch because she can’t be bothered to care that she’s totally up in his personal space. They’re watching a romantic comedy, because they can, because she holds more power over their movie choices (which she thinks is actually just because he really doesn’t care what they watch) and she’s laughing at something, head thrown back. When her head straightens again, she shoots a look his way and finds him staring at her. 

And it’s her turn to live the movie, watching him lean into her. She knows what’s going to happen, he leaves her more than enough time to figure it out, but doesn’t rightly care as she leans in too. 

Their first kiss starts out with gentle brushes, testing, teasing, before he groans and digs in, his hand in her hair. 

(It’s a move he does all the time now, whenever he kisses her, like it’s her hair that he loves best and can’t stop touching.)


	46. Scare: A nightmare my character has had about yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked:Hotch/Emily with the scare meme
> 
> Scare: A nightmare my character has had about yours.

He’s in the middle of a profile when his phone rings. 

Emily.

His brow furrows. It’s late, must be a ridiculous hour of the morning in England, and yet it’s definitely her number on his display. He catches Rossi’s eye and steps out of the room.

"Emily."

"Hi."

She sounds breathless and shaky and he hates it. 

(They don’t talk on the phone often, if he’s honest. There’s a lot of texting, a lot of emailing, but not a lot of phone calls. Usually it’s Skype, maybe once every two months or so, so she can get caught up with Jack. He can’t say he doesn’t want that to happen more often.)

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

But it doesn’t sound like nothing. It definitely doesn’t sound like nothing. It sounds like something’s spooked her. “Emily.”

"It’s stupid."

(It shouldn’t thrill him the way it does, the fact that he has that tone that still makes her reflexively confess everything. Sometimes in the dark lonely hours he thinks of what else he could get her to confess just by talking to her in that voice.)

"You called me at- God, Em, it’s three AM for you."

There’s a moment, a pause, then: “I had a nightmare.”

And you called me is on the tip of his tongue, prepared to come out, but he bites it back. Almost two years she’s been in England and he can’t seem to get rid of all of the feelings she pulls from him whenever they talk. He can’t seem to stop the butterflies that take up residence in his stomach every time he gets an e-mail or text, no matter how mundane. He can’t help the empty feeling in his heart when they hang up. 

"Want to talk about it?" 

There’s a beat. “You’re probably busy. God, are you even at home?” 

"No," he admits. "Indiana."

"Shit Hotch."

(Swearing. Swearing is not good. She’s usually pretty good with her language, a thing she thinks she’s bred out of herself since Jack became a fixture in her life too many years ago.)

"It’s fine."

"It’s not. I had a stupid nightmare and I’m bothering you about it."

Words crawl up his throat, all of these words about how he’s glad she does, how he wishes they could talk more often, that she’d rely on him for her emotional well-being. But he won’t. He won’t put that burden on her shoulders.

"What happened?"

There’s a huff, and one that makes her sound so damn mad at herself. “You got shot.”

Oh.

Oh wow.

Huh.

"And you called me."

"Of course I did. Have to make sure you’re not abandoning that little boy."

There’s something else in her voice though, something humming just beneath the surface of her tone. He refuses to read into it, even if there’s a part of him - the same part that auditioned for a play to woo his now-dead wife - that rejoices at the sound. Maybe, just maybe, there’s more to these calls and e-mails than he’s let himself think.

"Not shot, Prentiss."

She snorts out a laugh. “Apparently not.” There’s a pause. “I’m glad.” Another beat. “Don’t get shot in Indiana either.”

The smile blossoms over his face despite himself, despite the SSIAC Hotchner vibe he should have. Emily’s always had that effect. “I promise.”

"And um-"

He waits her out, learned long ago it’s the best tactic in this scenario.

"Call me when you get home?"

He can’t help the moment of stunned silence. Really he can’t.

(They don’t do that, the whole reassurance calling thing. They’re friends, yeah, but distance friends. Friends that catch up with each other every once in a while but mostly just exchange little e-mails when they can. It’s not like JJ or Garcia, whom he knows she talks to constantly.)

"Yeah," he manages around the surprised lump in his throat. "I can do that."

"Okay. Okay." She breathes. He actually hears the inhale and exhale. "Don’t get shot, Hotch."

And even though they’ve already talked about it, even though he knows better than to really promise this, he nods. “Promise.”


	47. Which asshole hasn't returned my DVDs

The door to their suite squeaks. it always has. It’s surprisingly helpful, really, because it means they all keep track of who comes and who goes. Tonight though, it’s just pissing him off. Aaron drops his head to his desk as he hears footsteps approaching.

"Fuck off, Dave," he growls.

"Uh. Rude. Also, not Dave."

His head comes up so fast he thinks he gives himself whiplash. The woman lounging in the doorway is most definitely not the roommate from hell that keeps trying to get him to come party in the common room even though he has a midterm tomorrow. It’s so, so not.

"H-Hi."

She flashes him a small smile. “Hi. And apology accepted, by the way.” 

He knows her, is the thing. She’s the woman at the end of the hall that he totally does not watch because that would be creepy (except he definitely does) and definitely is not attracted to (he can appreciate the fit of that red sweater without thinking about how well it fits her, er, assets). Except he cannot seem to surface from the anger that is melding hard with a bunch of legal concepts that have nothing to do with her.

"Sorry for interrupting your obviously scintillating studying," she goes on, a smirk playing about her lips. "Dave said he left my DVD right on the table, but, shocker, it’s not."

"DVD?" 

Her eyebrow goes up. “Yeah. They put movies on them these days. Unless you’re still stuck in the VHS age?” 

"No." God, he’s making a fool of himself. He is going to blame sleep-deprivation and midterms and there is nothing anyone can say to convince him it’s a bad idea. 

"Good. Seen  _Dirty Dancing_ around anywhere?” 

He has, between Dave’s econ and psychology textbooks (and they look brand new, dammit, but Aaron is not Dave’s mother) and he hands it to her with what he sure as hell hopes passes as a smile. She taps it on her palm a couple of times before she thanks him and leaves. 

He is literally banging his head against the wall when the door squeaks again and her head pokes back in. “Ever seen  _Dirty Dancing?”_ _  
_

He has, with his mother. Virginia Hotchner educated her sons in more than just proper etiquette (and maybe he indulged her more than he had to when it came to her adoration of love stories on film). But Aaron shakes his head.

She tilts hers to the side for a moment, watching him carefully. There’s quick flicker that might have been apprehension (except seriously, because he’s seen the Irish exchange student hitting on her in the hallway and she studies with an English guy who Aaron thinks is actually a citizen even though he keeps promising her some ridiculous tour of embassies and Buckingham Palace) before she says, “Take a break and watch it with me.”

He blinks. “What?” 

"It’s my favourite, for now, because I need  _If I Stay_  to come out like I need my next breath because  _phenomenal_  book, but it’s a great study break. Just the right amount of time to be entertaining without actually taking over your life and forcing you to suffer through a hangover in the morning.” She waggles the DVD case. “You in?”

He doesn’t remember saying yes, but they watch half of it before he starts twitching and he expects her to leave, but she just pauses the movie and tells him to go get his notes. She quizzes him on aggravating and mitigating circumstances while the movie plays in the background (and he tries so hard not to make fun of her when hears her humming “Time of My Life” under her breath). 

(He aces his midterm and asks her out to drinks to celebrate and say thank you. Emily congratulates him with her mouth on his, though Dave argues the real thank you is the mark on Aaron’s neck he can just barely hide beneath his tshirt.)


	48. Breath/Jawline/Loving & Eskimo/French

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kisses Meme - Eskimo & Loving, Jawline, Breath, French

**Eskimo Kiss & Loving Kiss**

Sometimes (often) he wakes before she does. When he does (every time he does) he makes sure he doesn’t wake her (not difficult since she sleeps hard) when he inches out of bed to get the paper or a book or something. Then he settles back beside her and waits. 

Eventually, her eyes always flutter open. He knows it’s coming when he feels her toes brush against his legs as she stretches, the tug of the blankets as she shifts and when they’re not in a rush he waits patiently until she turns his way. Sometimes (all the time) he snuggles down beside her and brushes his nose against hers for a few moments, teasing and light and full of emotion. 

Sometimes (every single time) he uses his momentum and the emotion that riots in his stomach to press his mouth to hers, slow and sweet, like they have all the time in the world, like he has to learn her mouth for the millionth time. He never gets enough of it, he knows and her hand always comes up to slide gently around his neck to hold him in place. She never pulls away first, never turns her head, just lets him kiss her as long as he wants, soaking him in the same way he does. 

Sometimes (those moments) he doesn’t have to tell her he loves her because she already knows. 

\---

 **Breath Kiss**  

He’s the one who yanks her from the lake. He’s glad, in a way, because he thinks he’d outright shoot their UNSUB through the head if he’d been in charge of that. But he’ll take this role instead, laying her out on the shore> She’s not breathing and his heart seizes in his chest as he tilts her head back and pinches her nose. 

It’s not the way he’d wanted their first kiss to go - because yes, he’s imagined it, sass and heat and blessed response - but he will not think on it as he gives her his breath. He repeats it three times and doesn’t realize he’s begging her in a quiet whisper to just breathe, just live. 

And then she is, coughing up lake water and pushing against the way he tries to turn her on her side. It takes everything in him to keep from yanking her to him and holding her close. 

(He gets his real first kiss in the garage when they get back to Quantico, soft and shy and everything he could have wanted.) 

\---

 **Jawline Kiss**  

One thing she learns quickly is that he absolutely sucks at undercover. An UNSUB with a gun to a victim’s head? He can talk his way out of that. A bomb? They don’t always have to call Morgan to disarm it. The man can breach a house silently in dress shoes, but when it comes to undercover, it’s almost like his brain short circuits. 

At least in her experience, so when another undercover opportunity comes up and it’s down to the two of them, she almost breathes out a heavy sigh of exasperation. But she slips into a dress and heels, curls her hair and applies darker eyeliner. Bright red lipstick finishes the look. It’s one she knows she can pull off and then some and one that will lend her a dangerous air she needs tonight. 

The restaurant is quiet, but that’s the point. They don’t stand out, but she’s got her eyes peeled as the maitre’d leads them to their table. And once there, she acts on instinct. When Hotch pulls out her chair, she slips her hand to his shoulder and presses her mouth right where his jaw meets his neck. It’s a bold move, an obvious move, and considering the way his scent invades her nostrils she’s surprised she even sees the way the maitre’d’s jaw clenches and the way his eyes go dark. 

(When said maitre’d finally makes his move and tries to take them, he’s the one that takes him down because she is good at many things but mastering fighting in stilettos is still something on her bucket list. She says thank you with an echo of her kiss in the restaurant, revelling in the way his hand grips her hip in response. 

She thinks maybe it’s the start of something new.)

\---

**French Kiss**

It actually takes them longer than she’d like to admit to work their way to anything heavy. Part of it is time, and isn’t that always the way. They’ve chosen to explore a relationship in what is apparently the height of serial killer season in the United States, and they’ve barely managed to have coffee, let alone actually have a proper date with a proper end. 

So when they do, after they’ve gone out for dinner (and argued over the bill) and he’s driven her back to her apartment (they argued over whether coffee was a good idea too) she finally gets to feel what it’s like to do more than place a quick peck on his mouth. For the first time, she gets to taste him, gets to feel the way his tongue brushes against hers and dances inside her mouth. She clenches his shirt in her fist to keep him close as she returns the favour. 


	49. Neck & Hickey/Single-Lip/Biting/Spiderman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kisses Meme - Neck & Hickey, Single Lip, Biting, Superman

**Neck & Hickey Kiss**

It’s seduction as old as time. A quiet movie, nothing too action heavy or plot focused, dim lights and no kid. They don’t get it that often these days, but they take advantage when they do. And that’s exactly what he’s doing as his hands stroke up and down her sides, slipping under her top to tease before going back to stroking her skin above the cotton. It’s driving her crazy. 

And then he brings his mouth into play, presses his lips against her shoulder first, then up the column of her neck. Her breathing speeds up, her eyes fogging over and she loses track of what’s going on in their movie. Instead, she’s focused on him and the feel of his neck against her pulse point, a gentle suction, the slight nip of teeth. It doesn’t take her long before she can’t take it anymore and she flips herself over, pushing him back into the cushions. 

And in the morning, when she looks in the mirror to find a bright red hickey decorating her neck, she’s so very thankful this November is freezing cold. 

. . . 

 **Biting Kiss**  

It shouldn’t surprise her when it happens. They’ve been dancing around that proverbial something for almost too long now so when he corners her in the dark hall of the bar she shouldn’t be surprised when he leans in and kisses her. The moment zings through her blood and leaves her clutching at his shirt. 

Her mouth opens beneath his, of course, and he groans as her tongue brushes against his. She’s not sure how long they kiss. As she pulls away though he catches her tongue between his teeth. It’s barely pressure, just enough that she feels it and it makes her moan. She presses into him again, ignoring her need for air to suck his tongue into her mouth. 

Eventually thought, they both need to breathe and she paints into his shirt for a moment before raising her eyes to his. They say the same thing that’s running on repeat through her mind. 

Finally.

. . .

**Spiderman Kiss** **  
**

There’s nothing he likes more than coming home to find Emily sprawled across the bed. It happens more often than not these day because it’s that time of year where he has more paperwork than is healthy for any human being, and the only thing that makes it worth it is the fact that four days out of five, he comes home to find her sprawled on her back, her head at the foot, her feet tucked under her pillow, reading. A magazine, a book, he doesn’t care because she just looks right at home. 

And every day, as has become routine, he leaves his briefcase just inside the bedroom door and pads over in his own socked feet. She hums as he nudges the magazine out of the way -  _Vogue_  today, he thinks she’s going through a high fashion phase - and leans down, bracing himself over her. His nose brushes her chin, but he doesn’t care. All he cares about his the feeling of her mouth under his, the way it opens to let him taste and explore. 

He pulls back and hovers just above her mouth for a moment before giving into temptation and kissing her again. This time, she chuckles as he releases her and he smiles back. 

"Dinner?"

. . .

**Single-Lip Kiss**

When they get the evening to themselves, they take advantage. They don’t make reservations or dress up, they don’t go our of their way to do something or be active. More often than not, they dress in the most comfortable clothes they have and see where the day takes them. 

Sometimes they spend the day in bed. Sometimes, they experiment with new recipes. Sometimes they scour her Netflix and binge watch entire seasons of shows because they both believe that it isn’t about what they do together so long as they do it together. 

And it’s one of those days, when he’s dared her to go all day kissing him, touching him, making out with him without removing a single item of clothing that they’re sprawled on the couch, credits to House of Cards playing in the background while her fingers comb through her hair and her legs are wrapped around his hips. She has no idea what makes her do it, what has her gently sinking her teeth into his bottom lip and tugging, but she does. Almost immediately his hips surge into hers and the groan he releases is downright obscene. 

It turns out she wins the bet (because he’s the one who all but rips her shirt as he tries to whip it over her head) and then wins again when he leaves her sprawled and panting afterwards. 

. . .

**Single-Lip Kiss**

He’s not supposed to visit her. Her identity is need-to-know and it is not safe for him to be visiting a patient at Bethesda that doesn’t exist. But he cannot help himself. He never could when it comes to her. 

She’s awake, thankfully, and smiles as he slips into the room. She’s still incredibly pale, and exhausted, but she’s breathing and he definitely counts that as a miracle. They laugh and talk, even though the former hurts her more than she’ll admit. He sees the moment when she starts to fade and has the perfect boring anecdote ready. He watches her breath even out and sighs when he’s sure she’s asleep. 

He knows what has to come next and he does not like it. They’re using JJ’s pull and Easter’s loyalty to give her new identities, to give her the most dangerous undercover mission he’s praying will save her life. Soon, he won’t be able to visit, won’t be able to see her, talk to her, and it makes his heart clench painfully in his chest. 

And it’s that desperate emotion that has him leaning int to press his mouth against her uninjured top lip. It’s barely a kiss, barely pressure but he knows clearly and painfully it’s the last time he’ll see her. 

(At least, until she shows up in the BAU, regret and pain across her face, but whole and real and beautiful.)


	50. Difference between Aaron and Agent Hotchner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked - Emily is the only one who understands there’s a difference between Aaron and Agent Hotchner.

She finds him in a quiet corner, his cheek still pink. The woman had been fast, Emily has to give her that, driven by fear, anger and a disbelief that her child could be a serial killer. It’s not the first time they’ve seen it, it won’t be the last, but she also knows that Hotch will be taking more than a few of the woman’s sentences personally.

 _Are you even human?_  
Do you know what you’ve done?  
You cold-hearted bastard.

 

It’s the last that gets him, she knows. Because she knows him. So she watches silently for a few moments, trying to figure out just how to go about her next step.

“Something I can help you with, Agent Prentiss?”

Her title makes her shiver, but she masks it in the way she leans against the doorjamb. “She’s wrong, you know.”

He turns her head, but says nothing.

“About the cold-hearted part.” She releases a bit of a not-laugh. “And I should know.”

She can remember a similar conversation, a moment she’d all but accused him of not being human, of being overtaken by a misguided need to be entirely objective. She knows differently now, knows that it’s not about objectivity so much as being able to walk away from a case, forget it and move forward. Because there are always more cases, always more killers and for him to move forward, she knows, he has to look at them all with a cold, unfeeling eye.

But she also knows that is Agent Hotchner, the same way she is Agent Prentiss, the queen of compartmentalization.

But Aaron is different. Aaron has nightmares and wakes up in cold sweats when he remembers places where he thinks he’s failed victims, officers or the team. Aaron thinks about mothers that slap him, children he arrests, and people he isn’t fast enough to save. He is a human that feels deeply and tears himself up inside.

She steps up beside him and slips her hand in his, despite their rules about displays of affection on the job. She’s only a little surprised when he tangles his fingers with hers.

“This job is hard,” she says quietly, easily. “This job tears you up and no one in this building knows it better than you do. And we all get it, Hotch. We all understand what it’s like and we all have ways to cope.”

He’s not looking at her, but she knows he’s listening. He always does.

“You are not cold. You are not heartless. You do what you have to do to get up in the morning and do this job day in and day out, to keep people safe. And that’s more than okay, Hotch. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

There’s a moment, a pause and it’s long enough that she actually wonders if she’s managed to get through to him. And then he tugs on her hand, just a little, just enough and pulls her into his arms. She tries to hide her startled reaction and wraps her arms around him. She feels him exhale.

“Thank you,”

She swallows. In two words she hears hope and awe and faith and everything she hadn’t seen in his face only moments before. She buries her head in his chest, hides everything it does her insides in his tie.

“Always,” she whispers back. 


	51. Hotch trying to scare Emily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shelskid asked Halloween – Hotch tries to scare Emily and maybe gets scared in the process

They’ve been hiding for almost an hour. He’s glad he thought ahead, that his phone is charged and he’d squirreled away some Legos so Jack didn’t get bored. He hadn’t anticipated hiding this long, but he’s glad for it nevertheless. He has no idea where she is. She’d texted an hour ago to say she was on her way. And nothing.

 

“Daddy,” Jack whispers. “Are you sure Emily is coming to visit? It’s been so long.”

He’s definitely sure. Emily doesn’t pass up visits and he knows she’s even made up some excuses to come by. It’s not like her to just disappear. Then his phone vibrates.

 _Good try, gentlemen,_  her message reads.  _But you’ll have to do better than that. Come find me if you can!_

Jack giggles as he reads her text, eyes shining. Hotch grins back. “What do you think?” But he knows the answers, even before Jack goes scrambling for the cupboard doors.

“We gotta find her, Daddy. Like hide and seek.”

And Jack’s always preferred seeking.

She’s not in the kitchen or the hall closet. She’s not in Jack’s room (thankfully, because the last thing he wants is his son developing a fear of the monsters under his bed). Which leaves them with one last option. They tiptoe into Hotch’s room, trying to be quiet despite Jack’s constant giggling. There aren’t many places for a full-grown woman to hide in. She’s not under the bed or in the ensuite which leaves his closet. They creep up quietly, carefully, Hotch pressing a finger to his lips to try and keep Jack’s giggling to a minimum.

But when they yank open the doors Emily isn’t there. Instead, a half-second later, a pair of hands reach out and grip Jack’s waist. He just barely resists turning and defending, tensing in preparation before he realizes it’s just Emily and Jack’s already squirming against her tickling fingers. Her eyes meet his, bright, knowing and sparkling. It isn’t often she takes him by surprise.

A smirk plays over her mouth. “Got you.”

And despite the way his heart is hammering in his chest he grins back. 


	52. First fight, apology and aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked Hotchniss – First fight, apology and aftermath

It’s a stupid and clichéd thing to fight about and yeah, maybe it had been something that had been a bit of a given but that does not temper her anger and frustration. And he knows he’s dug himself a hell of a hole even as he knocks on her hotel room door. It’s bad enough that he half-expects her not to answer.

But that’s not her. It’s not Emily and as he hears the locks click over he vows to himself not to take advantage of her easy forgiveness.

 

“It’s not about you,” he says the moment he sees her face.

She rolls her eyes. “Of course it’s not.”

“It’s not about your skills.”

It never has been and this time she stays silent, raising an eyebrow. She’s done worse than this, played worse bait than this, taken worse beatings than their UNSUB has been doling out. He finds himself looking down, unable to look at the accusation in her eyes.

This thing is new. Very new. Brand new, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with her on a good day. She’s so different from his ex-wife, a strength in her that is comparable though black to Haley’s white. And he often thinks that it’s the darkness of her that’s drawn him in, the way she can handle herself no matter what. The way he never has to worry about her.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.

“For?”

“For wanting you safe.”

“God, sometimes-“

He can see the forgiveness in her face though, the way she understands what he can’t say. He’s a protector by nature, something he doesn’t think about when put in situations like this. They’d both known the minute he’d vetoed her offer to play the undercover bait that he’d made a serious misstep, that if they hadn’t started their, well, Thing, this wouldn’t have been an issue.

“No more,” she tells him quietly. “You treat me like an agent. Like an equal. I’ve proven that.”

“You have,” he agrees. She’d proven that long before the hell that had been Ian Doyle. She is so much more than any of them had anticipated, more than any of them had ever known.

She bites her lip for a moment. “I won’t push it this time,” she says. “I’ll give you this one. Next time, we talk about it like adults or this won’t work.”

He’s already reaching for her, palming her hip. He swallows because hadn’t he already promised himself not to screw this up? Second chances were so damn rare and when she’d come back, when they’d agreed to start, he’d vowed not to screw it up. He swallows aware that he almost had.

She nods once, decisively. “Come inside.  _A Clockwork Orange_ is about to start.”

He slips inside and feels relief flood his blood. Maybe, if he’s lucky, everything will be okay in the morning.

(It is.)


	53. Marvel Crossover - Emily interviews Steve about Cap 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotchniss & Captain Hill Crossover – Emily and Hotch interview Maria and Steve about SHIELD after the events of The Winter Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should know. This, in part, takes place kind of in the Homecoming universe. At least that’s where my Hotch and Emily are from. You’re fine not reading that (and you shouldn’t if you’re not comfortable with NSFW stuff) but just so you know there is a backstory for Hotchniss in this little ficlet. Not for Captain Hill though. I’m working my way through a sort of ‘foundation headcanon’ for them.

Emily Prentiss never expected to meet Captain America. She’s giddy with it, strangely enough. She’s been face to face with the worst serial killers and the idea of facing her father’s idol makes her stomach churn. It’s irrational.

“You’re shaking.”

 

She’s not, but her knee is bumping rhythmically and she knows it drives him nuts. “I can’t help it,” she says. “I never expected to get this.”

 _This_  was an interview with Steve Rogers, a chance to get the story straight from the horse’s mouth. He’d been in recovery for the congressional hearings she’s been privy to with her role at Interpol, and then up and vanished. When he’d returned, his Winter Soldier in tow, every law enforcement agency in the world had jumped at the chance to question him. Since the whole story was a matter of public record, the people who surrounded Captain Rogers had sent unequivocal ‘no’s in reply. Except to her.

In that vein, she kept it casual. The house is tidy and neat because they both are and she hopes that despite the formality of the situation, it’s at least a bit of a comfort. The cold sterile conference rooms of the Pentagon just hadn’t felt right, and a Starbucks, she’d decided, was too casual. But the house she shared with the man next to her had just felt right.

The knock comes right on time, not that Emily’s all that surprised considering what she’s heard, but the woman accompanying Captain Rogers is a surprise.

“Agent Hill?”

Maria Hill, current Vice-President of Logistics at Stark Industries – a role Emily knows had been created for her after the fall of SHIELD – offers a surprisingly casual, genuine smile. “Agent Prentiss.”

“Emily,” she says with a bit of a laugh. She knows of the woman, of course, mainly by reputation though also by a couple of very pointed and shockingly inspirational speeches at a couple of women in law enforcement conferences over the years, but to see such a formidable woman up close and completely dwarfed by the man next to her is something else entirely.

“You two know each other?”

Hill smiles. “By reputation, mostly.” She turns back to Emily. “If you hadn’t taken the Interpol position, I had plans to lobby Fury to bring you into SHIELD.”

Emily laughs. “Easter’s kind of turned me off the secret agent thing. Desk work actually appeals to me after all of that.”

Hill offers a wry smile and a quick darting look to Rogers. “I know the feeling.”

Emily lets them in, offers tea and coffee as they shake Hotch’s hand before they all settle around the dining room table. Emily leans back, lets Hotch slip his hand to her knee. Rogers, who is sitting kitty-corner to her, braces himself on Hill’s chair.

“You blew up three helicarriers over the Potomac,” she says without preamble. She’s never really been the type to ease into these things, even though the blunt statement makes Rogers wince. “We’ve managed to recover most of the tech, but that was a ballsy move, considering how close it was to civilians.”

“I didn’t get much of a choice, ma’am,” Rogers says, though Emily notices the way his fingers brush against Hill’s shoulder. She’s spent too much time as a profiler not to read that as not-just-professional. “It turns out three thousand feet isn’t quite as high as we think it is.”

Three thousand feet. The limit the helicarriers had needed before triangulating with the satellites. It makes Emily shiver just thinking about it. About how close they came to wiping out half of Earth’s population. No matter what she learns today, she knows she will always be grateful for the sacrifice.

“And the great balls of fire?”

“We ah, cut it a bit close.” And damn, he actually rubs absently at the back of his head, like he’s embarrassed.

“The Winter Soldier.”

His back straightens, eyes go flat and blank. “He was there.”

“We know that, Captain. What I want to know is what his role was, whether we need to be watching him.”

“No.” That comes from Hill and surprises Emily more than just a bit. Rogers reaches out, but Hill’s already leaning forward. Where Rogers’ eyes had gone flat, Hill’s blaze. “You want Barnes, you go through Stark.”

Well. It takes a whole lot of willpower not to raise an eyebrow, not to question the nature of the relationship of the man and woman in front of her. This is more than some twisted handler-and-asset relationship and it makes Emily pause.

“Barnes is safe from me,” Emily says carefully and Hill sits back in her chair. Rogers squeezes her shoulder again and Emily pretends she doesn’t see the way Hill’s hand moves to his thigh. It’s not like she can really throw stones anyway with Hotch’s hand warningly pressing against the bottom of her spine.

It takes them an hour and a half to work through the whole story, to hear about Fury’s not-quite death, and the definite adventure Rogers had experienced bringing Barnes back to the US. Hill picks up the story from there. They’re cautiously optimistic, it seems, that Barnes will be able to make a ‘full recovery’ and work side-by-side with the Avengers.

Hotch offers to clean up and she sees the smirk twitch at the corner of Hill’s mouth when Rogers offers to help. No one questions him and it leaves Hill and Emily sitting across the table.

“You’re close,” Emily says.

Hill merely arches an eyebrow. “So are you.”

Emily hums, lets a smile play across her mouth. “A different kind of close.”

Hill’s eyes twinkle. “I’m not so sure.” And the hand that Hill’s had in her lap all afternoon rests on the table, three tiny sapphires blinking in the light. “We’re a little unconventional.”

And Emily may not know Hill that well, may not understand the other woman completely, but she does know that dark recognizes dark and Hill is letting her see quite a bit. So Emily nods, twists her own engagement ring on her finger.

“A wise woman once told me that when something good comes along, we should hold onto it. A better man once told me to hang on to people that mattered, no matter the cost.”

Emily thinks of the BAU, of Haley and Foyet and Doyle and Easter, thousands of miles and painful miscommunications. And she thinks of now, the patter of Jack’s feet in the morning, the feel of him against her back in the shower and the knowledge that she has someone stalwart and steadfast to come home to.

“You know some pretty smart people.”

Hill smiles. “Pepper knows that. We try not to let Steve’s head get too big.”

Emily laughs because she can’t see Rogers with too much of an ego – a healthy one sure, but not a big one. And then she does something a little impulsive. From the folder she’s had open in front of her, she withdraws a business card. “Next time you’re in DC, we’ll go out. Who knows, maybe your experience with superheroes will help with a superhero complex.”

Hill laughs, something quiet and genuine. “The resource won’t hurt either.”

And as they leave, as Emily watches them bicker over Chinese or pizza for dinner in front of the elevator, she also sees Rogers reach for Hill’s hand and the easy way the woman takes it. They step side-by-side onto the elevator and Hill looks back, catching Emily’s eye. A smile plays across the woman’s mouth, secretive and real and Emily laughs as she feels Hotch’s hand press against her back.

“So I have an idea,” he says, pressing little kisses to her neck. It’s distracting, but Emily tries to keep a cool head. She has plans for him and questions about what happened in the kitchen with Rogers.

“Oh?”

“We play hooky this afternoon.”

She gasps both because he hits one of those mythical ‘spots’ and because Agent Hotchner does not skip work. “You want to play hooky?”

He hums into her skin. It makes her shiver pleasantly. “A wise man just told me to hold onto what was important and to make time for the people I loved.”

Emily laughs and turns in his embrace, pushing the door closed behind her. “Oh?”

“And I figured if there was any advice I should listen to, it should be Captain America’s.”

She pulls him in, kisses him hard. “Then by all means, Agent Hotchner, let’s play hooky.”

(When Hill does return to DC three months later, she calls Emily up. They exchange more than just stories of strong men that they thought only existed in legend and fairytales. They exchange shoptalk and theories, debate politics and the way Stark Industries is pioneering the privatization of security.

And when they split ways, Emily thinks that maybe, just maybe, she’s made a rather surprising friend.)


	54. Homecoming - Being happy is the hard part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jaelamae asked (ages ago) – Hotchniss (Homecoming) – “But you make me happy. It’s living up to the happy that’s the hard part.” (The Time Traveler’s Wife)

She finds the ring box by accident. She’s at the end of a week of conferences and meetings at the Pentagon and, as usual, it means an early release. They’ve been so bloody busy, she knows, that they’ve both kind of neglected the dry cleaning. Since she has a half day, she figures she can handle it.

 

The ring box tumbles out of his jacket pocket and she forgets all about dry cleaning.

It’s how he finds her hours later, sitting on the couch looking more than a little stunned. The silence as he takes her in is deafening.

“Sweetheart?”

She swallows, tosses the box from one hand to the other, and notices the way he stiffens. It doesn’t make her feel better.

Jack’s at Jessica’s, their normal Thursday night sleepover because Emily and Hotch work long hours and Jessica’d long ago offered to give them a night to themselves and while they didn’t take her up on it every week, they certainly tried for once a month.

When she looks up from the box, Hotch is sitting right in front of her and everything other than the ring goes flying out the window.

He takes her shaking hands in his. “Why are you so scared?”

She swallows. She doesn’t know, honestly. It’s not like they haven’t been living together, bought a house together, all of that. But the idea of the ring has her borderline catatonic and she isn’t totally sure what to do about it. “I’m not. Maybe.”

“You know I want to marry you.”

The air comes out in one huge breath, filled with all sorts of emotion she’s not sure she wants to name. Fear, yes, but also a strange and surreal elation. When had this become her life? When did karma decide to start giving her all of her dreams. “Yes.”

“Then I don’t understand,” he says quietly, squeezing her hands gently. “Have you changed your mind?”

“No.” And it comes out so fast and so emphatic that they both know it’s the truth. “No.”

“Then?”

She doesn’t know how to say it. She doesn’t know how to make him see that with everything they’ve been through, waking up beside him is still a surprise. It still haunts her, sometimes, the fact that they almost didn’t have this and she doesn’t know what to do with the overwhelming emotion most days. The days are fewer and farther between, but it’s still so surreal to look over in the morning and have him there next to her, to reach out and touch him both because she wants to, and because she can.

“Sometimes I wake up and I think I’m dreaming,” she says, not sure where she’s going, but aware she needs to talk. “Sometimes, I’m scared to turn my head or close my eyes because I think when I open them, you won’t be there anymore and I’ll be back in London, alone and heartbroken because for the longest time I didn’t think I could demand from you more than you were willing to give. I didn’t think you wanted me as much as I wanted you.”

The sound he releases is painful, a conglomeration of emotions that she knows he feels too. They’re in the same boat, the two of them, two peas in a strange, dark and screwed up pod.

“I am the happiest I’ve ever been in my life,” she says on a whisper. “You make me happy, you and Jack and being back in Washington, all of that makes me happy. It’s living up to the happy that’s the hard part.”

She hadn’t realized she’d closed her eyes until she hears him shift. When she opens them, he has the ring box open in front of her, the small diamond blinking in the light. “You are a dream and you are real. And I love you, Emily, so very much.” He sucks in a breath, like he’s afraid she’ll say no. “Marry me. Be my wife.”

And Emily looks at him, fear in her eyes and an unbridled happiness. “Yes.”


	55. Kill me - laser tag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Leave a “Kill Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character killing another. - Hotchniss :((

It is dark. 

So very, very dark. 

The wall she leans against, braces herself against, clangs behind her. It’s an annoying sound, but she likes this corner for so many totally strategic reasons. She’s in shadow, she’s covered on two sides, and she waits. 

She is patient. 

Always, always patient. 

It’s what makes her so good here. It’s what she’s built her legacy on. 

She will not fail. 

And then a shape slips around the corner. She’s looking for it, or she’s sure she would have missed him. But she knows. She’d known the minute she stepped into these halls. She’d known this is what it would come down to. 

She slows her breathing, concentrates and listens. The clanging dulls in her ears as she watches him slink over the opposite wall. She doesn’t have the clearest shot, not the one she wants anyway. She waits as he clears one corner, two, three…

When he faces her, she fires. 

The vest he wears lights up as he swears, as the lights come back on. She grins as she holsters her training weapon, too amused by his frown to be afraid. 

From behind her she hears the rest of the team, the congratulatory ‘whoops’ and whistles that come with it. It takes only a beat before he’s smiling too, reaching out to wrap his arm around her. 

"Well played, sweetheart."

"I told you," she answers, leaning into his side. "I am the queen of laser tag."

He laughs.


	56. Call Me, brink of death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Call Me, brink of death, hotly

It’s not supposed to end this way. It’s never supposed to end this way, but as he sits braced against a tree in the middle of nowhere he knows he’s not going to make it. 

It’s too far, and that’s the point. 

 

He knows Garcia’s working to triangulate his position, knows logically that his team is out there looking, but he’s bleeding out into the fall leaves, already going into shock and he knows. 

His hands shake as he goes for his phone, as he dials the number he only has listed as “Emergency”

"Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Emily."

There’s a gasp. “Hotch? Jesus, why do you sound like shit?”

"Dying."

"You are not. What the hell are you talking about? Where are you?"

"Don’t know."

It must sink in then because she’s silent for a moment. 

"Aaron, don’t lie to me."

"I wish I was." With everything in him. 

"You can’t die. What are you talking about? Why are you not in a hospital?"

"Long story."

"You tell it, dammit, because you are not going to die."

It’s too late. He knows it, and he can hear by the tremor in her voice that she knows it too. He closes his eyes and draws up his strength. 

"I always cared," he says. "Too much. So I pushed you away."

"No," she says, and he can hear the tears in her voice. "You can’t do this to me, okay? If you’re going to do this, you life, dammit. You hear me."

"Wish I could." His eyes are already falling closed. He feels so weak. "Want to."

"Then do it, Aaron. Live."

But he won’t. So he breathes. “I cared too much. And I lost you. But you need to know.”

She’s crying now, tiny little sobs he can hear. It’s strange to be on this side, he thinks, listening to her cry when he’s the one dying.

"I knew," she says. "I always knew. Even when I left."

The world is fuzzy around the edges. He’s on the brink, losing consciousness and after that, everything. “Love you,” he tells her. “Should have told you.”

"I love you too."

It’s the last thing he hears before everything goes black.


	57. Quiet Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Quiet me/Hotly. Hotch tries to calm emily down after an angry fight which led to her screaming and crying.

After Ian Doyle’s death, she has more bad days than good. 

It’s a strange sort of limbo to be in, constantly battling guilt and a terrifyingly strong bout of post traumatic stress. She’s done what she could, of course. She’s upgraded her skills, gone through all of the training she had before she went undercover as Lauren Reynolds. She’s seeing a psychologist, actually talking about it all…

But some days, it just doesn’t help. 

Her insomnia is worse than ever, her temper on a hair trigger if she lets it go too long. She spends too much time at the gym and not enough time loving Sergio, but she thinks she’s done a damn good job of keeping all of that under wraps. 

Until one night, in Texas.

It’s been another bad day, another bad night. She’s tried wandering the halls, drinking tea - she’s still stubbornly not drinking coffee - watching mindless television, hell even counting sheep. But nothing’s worked. She’d dropped down to a couch in the very empty lobby of their hotel, her head in her hands when she feels the cushions sink beside her. She’s not as surprised as she probably should be to find Hotch sitting there. 

"Bad night?"

She doesn’t have to acknowledge it, she knows. He’s not asking. She sighs. 

"Isn’t it supposed to get better? He’s dead. He shouldn’t be haunting me anymore."

He surprises her when his hand splays across her back, when it slides up her spine. It’s not a move she would generally take as his. In fact, it’s a little bit terrifying in it’s own right. She lifts her head from her hands and stares at him. He offers a little smile. 

"In our line of work, sometimes the demons are stronger than we are."

Her breath comes out in a gust of air, her body lilting towards his. It’s instinctual more than anything because he’s offering comfort. He makes some strange noise she can’t pinpoint. Surprise, definitely, but something else too and a moment later, he’s tugging her into his side. She should be upset that it’s so intimate, she should be worried because he is her boss and there are so many things wrong with this moment. 

Instead, she leans in, lets him pull her so very, very close and finds herself bursting into tears. 


	58. Fight me - on the mats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Fight Me - H/P? With each other.

When she’s officially back in DC, the first thing she does is a ridiculous amount of training. She calls in every favour she has, gets herself in on deep level CIA training, and goes through the same courses she’d had before going undercover as Lauren Reynolds. Hand-to-hand, firearms, deadly weapons, even training with the bomb squad everyone knows she’ll never really use. 

But she does her homework.

When Derek asks her for the 10 hours of re-qualification, she doesn’t bat an eye. She plays it up for him, of course, because that’s what she’s supposed to do, but she knows she doesn’t need it. Hotch knows it too, if his reaction to her questions about Derek’s training is any indication. She sees the twitch of his mouth, the flare in his eyes and just barely resists the urge to smirk back. 

And maybe that’s really the reason she’d accepted his sparring offer last week. She has nothing to prove, but maybe, just maybe, she wants to show off a bit.

Show that not even Ian Doyle can keep Emily Prentiss down for long.

They’re silent when they meet on the mats. It’s early, a breathless quiet in the air, and it doesn’t seem like either of them is particularly willing to break it. She doesn’t mind, she thinks, as she stretches out muscles that are not tense. 

(She’s already been for a run this morning. She’s awake and limber because she has a damn good routine and the experience of too many good teachers.)

She lets him come at her first, parries and defends way more than she attacks. He’s good, she’ll have to admit. Better than she expected considering his age and the fact that this kind of hand-to-hand is not often necessary in their line of work. But she bides her time. She is patient. She makes him do the work, watches and waits. 

And then she attacks. 

He’s weaker on his right side, she knows. He feints to his left too often, probably because it is his stronger and dominant side. He prefers punches, and stays high. All of that she uses. Right up until the point he catches her under her guard and sends her tumbling. It knocks the air right out of her, and a moment later he follows, pinning her arms and legs rather neatly. 

And her breath catches for an entirely different reason. 


	59. Teacher/Student AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Hotch/Prentiss AU#3 - teacher/student relationship

He’d been screwed the minute she walked through his office door. For the majority of Emily Prentiss’ admission to the PhD program, they’d communicated via email. She’s smart, he knows, efficient and capable and she doesn’t just take advice. She fights back when she doesn’t fully agree.

But never in a million years would he have expected her to be quite as stunning. Even in the simple jeans she’d been wearing when they first met - he’d found himself admiring the fact that she quite obviously hadn’t been there to impress anyone, that she expected her brain and her dissertation proposal to do all the work for her - he could see the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips. 

That had been a year ago. 

It hadn’t been an easy year though. He’d finalized his divorce, picked up a new consulting gig and just barely kept his head when the there had been too many accusations of teacher-student relationships in the poli sci department. Despite the fact that he’d been struggling and dealing with the shared attraction between him and the lovely, wickedly-smart Ms Prentiss. 

But now he pushes the door open with his knee and finds Emily sitting cross-legged against the headboard. Her head is bent over her laptop, finger at her mouth as she skims what’s on the screen. Utterly absorbed and painfully beautiful. 

"I’ve been gone fifteen minutes," he chides gently. They’re supposed to be on vacation - he has a paper to finish and she’d desperately needed the break - but it doesn’t seem like either of them is particularly good at keeping to the plan. 

"I had an idea about how labelling effects narcissists during bail and parole hearings, risk analyses and-"

He doesn’t remember putting the coffee mugs down, nor leaning over that very academic mouth. He doesn’t register much beyond the brain and the heat as he takes a kiss from her, ruthless and hot. She turns into him, the laptop slipping from her thighs. It hits his hip with a dull thud and she laughs as she pulls out of the kiss and reaching for the computer. 

"If my brain turns you on so much, I really have no idea how you managed to resist me so long," she teases as she rights the laptop. 

He presses his mouth to her shoulder as he climbs over her, settles against his pillow. By the time he makes it, she’s already absorbed again, coffee in one hand. He sighs and presses his hand against the back of her screen to close the computer. “Vacation.”

Her eyes spark, flare, even as she slides both laptop and coffee to the nightstand. “I don’t think the department defines vacation as continued and smoking hot sex with your supervisor.”

There’s a thread of guilt that winds it’s way through his blood. If anyone were to find out, they both know there’s a risk of her starting from scratch, switching schools, to finish a degree that has been surprisingly unaffected by this side of their relationship. Not that they haven’t been discrete about it - and she’d shocked the hell out of him when she’d explained she had a contingency plan that involves her second reader and a linguistics prof she knows through a friend - but it still haunts him. 

"Stop," she murmurs against his mouth. "I can hear you worrying and it is killing my contentment."

He sighs and tugs on her hip, slides his hand up her back when she’s straddling him. “Better?”

She grins and grinds down with her hips, rocks against him in blatant suggestion just to see the way his eyes go dark. “Much.”

He groans, gets his hand in her hair so he can yank her down to his mouth. At the first tough of his tongue, her body goes loose and pliant against him. He flips them with ease, a move that continues to leave her a little breathless with wide, heated eyes. This time, they soften quickly as her fingers brush along his cheeks and the corners of his eyes. 

"I’m happy, you know," she says softly, earnestly. "I know you worry, I know you’re constantly on edge about someone finding out, but even if they do and whatever we choose to do about it, I’m happy here, now. And I will never resent that."

He kisses her again, to keep the tumbling emotions at bay, to keep himself from saying words that will leaved them both cracked open and raw. He pours all of that emotion into his kiss, says with his mouth things they’re not entirely ready to say in words, but he knows she gets it. She always gets it. 

And that’s what makes all of this so very worth it. 


	60. One night stand and falling pregnant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Hotchniss AU #5: one night stand and falling pregnant.

Her nerves are at an all-time high as she stands in front of Hotch’s door. It’s not her fault, she thinks, not entirely. It takes two to tango after all, and definitely two to leave her carrying an ultrasound in her purse. She doesn’t want to do this, doesn’t want to add to his pressure or his stress… Whatever. But she also knows he deserves to know.

One night. One night where they’d both been drunk for utterly stupid reasons – she thinks it had something to do with Dave? She’s fuzzy on the details – but it had been a night that left her pleasantly sore and bruised for days. They hadn’t talked about it, had merely determined with a quick and simple look that it wouldn’t come up again, for both of their sakes, and moved forward.

Except now, eight weeks later, they have a problem.

She doesn’t know what to do, if she’s honest. Doesn’t know what she wants to do either. She wants a kid, has always wanted a kid – Declan’s fault, she thinks, that glimpse of a real family she’d had to throw away for the justice and safety of so many other children – but she’s not sure she wants to do it on her own. Isn’t sure she can. But she’s not stupid enough to think that he’d want to do this either. They’re not even together, both getting older, and he already has Jack. That’s not even touching on the demons that haunt them both or the job that they do.

It is, quite simply, a mess. But it’s a mess he’d be angry about if she didn’t come clean. She knows him well enough to give him that.

“Emily.”

Her breath whooshes out. “Hi.”

It’s a tell. They both know it, not that she’s really doing much to hide her anxiety anyway. She can’t say she knows which way he’s going to go, whether he’ll be mad or whether he’ll all but beg her to do this. She doesn’t know how she feels about either reaction either.

“What is it?”

She sucks in a breath, steals her courage. “Can I come in?”

“Of course.” Like he’d ever turn down a colleague in need. “Everything okay?”

“I- I don’t know.”

His face softens as he turns from locking the door. His hand splays across the bottom of her spine, warm and friendly. “Another bad day?”

She sighs. “You know I had that doctor’s appointment?”

She’d had to clear it through him, the time off. And somewhere along the line she’d just stopped keeping things from him. From them. She’s not sure she’s had that conversation with her therapist just yet.

“Is everything alright?”

Oh. Well. She hadn’t thought about it like that had she? That some of her injuries might be flaring up. That getting shot at and fighting UNSUBs may have had some effect on Doyle’s injuries. “Yes. Yes. Nothing’s… It’s not an injury. Not an illness.”

He watches her, eyes intense, dark. She watches him puzzle through it, watches him come to the only relevant connection. She has to look away, can’t watch the next couple of emotions flit across his face. She needs a moment, even if it’s the moment she takes to dig the ultrasound from her purse.

He knows what it is immediately and she hears him hiss out a breath. His eyes are dark but guarded when she looks up at him.

“That night.”

“Yes.”

“But we-“

She snorts. “As far as we both remember.”

Which, in some instances she knows, isn’t all that much. There are blanks in her memory about that night. She can only assume there are a few blanks in his too.

“That’s why you went to the doctor? How long have you known?”

Anger. Well, that she’d kind of expected. “I’ve suspected for a week. But home pregnancy tests can be wrong. I didn’t want to tell you until I knew.” She shrugs. “I’ve skipped cycles before. The stress of the job, some of my previous injuries… It adds up.”

“But then-“

“But then.”

He blows out a breath.

She watches him for a moment, holds her breath a little. She wants him to say something before she jumps in, but it becomes painfully obvious that won’t be the case. She lets her eyes flutter closed, since his gaze is still focused on the ultrasound, steals herself.

“I needed you to know,” she says quietly. “I don’t- It’s up to you. What you want to do. It’s mine, and I’m keeping it but-“

“You’re not doing this by yourself.”

She finds herself stepping away, pacing to his window. “It’s not an obligation,” she says quietly. “I don’t- If you don’t want to do this, if this is just because you feel like you have to just- Just don’t.”

She couldn’t deal with that. She couldn’t deal with that pain, couldn’t put her child through that. She starts when his hand presses against her back again, higher this time, friendly. No undertones. It makes her shiver anyway.

“Even if it wasn’t- Even if I wasn’t involved,” he says. “I wouldn’t let you do this alone.”

Because he knows what it’s like, she tells herself. He knows what it’s like to raise a kid by himself, how much work it is, all of the help he’s needed. She does too. But Jack’s not hers, even if she loves him to death. This child will be his and hers. Isn’t that different?

“Do you want this baby?” she asks quietly, needing to know.

His eyes are a mess. Anguish and worry and confusion and something else she is not going to analyze when he’s just been presented with an unexpected pregnancy. “You can’t ask me that.”

 _I don’t have an answer_.

She hears it loud and clear, finds herself reaching for the ultrasound, tucking it back in her purse. “Good thing you have eight months to think about it.”

It’s a snappy, waspish retort, but he doesn’t fight her as she walks away. She makes it to the lobby before she has to stop, before she sags against the wall. She has a terrible gut feeling the next eight months won’t be easy and she’s pretty sure it will have very little to do with her pregnancy. 

. . . .

She wakes to silence and an empty bed, disoriented and a little panicked. It’s the quiet, she knows, and stumbled out of bed.

 

There’s an infant in the house. A new infant that cries when she’s upset and a baby monitor perpetually in her hand. The silence is abnormal. The silence makes her anxious.

She trips over his pants, barely catches herself on the wall and bites her lip against the stream of curses on the tip of her tongue. She’s trying to curb that particular habit with her daughter in the house, doesn’t want her own damn kid learning to swear from her own mouth. She’ll leave that to junior high bathrooms, thanks.

The room is yellow, pale and soft. Classic Winnie-the-Pooh circles the room – the only thing they’d been able to really agree on for decoration, simple, childish and classy at the same time – and her daughter’s nightlight spread stars across the room. But it’s the gentle movement of the rocking chair that catches her eye, her breath and her heart.

“How long have you been here?” she asks quietly as she steps into the room. She doesn’t want to wake the baby if she can help it. Her daughter struggles with sleep, doesn’t want to miss out on anything. She goes down hard, sure, but getting her to go down is always a battle.

Emily wouldn’t change it for the world. 

Hotch sighs, his eyes falling to her daughter. Their daughter. An accident maybe, but the adoration on his face tells her he doesn’t care. She’s not sure he ever did. 

They’ve come a long way in ten months. Together, kind of, because they have a child and because he’s spent at least the last five of those months trying to convince her that the one night stand may have been fuelled by alcohol, but was more; that he’s been attracted to her for ages and always figured she wouldn’t want him and all his baggage. (Who the hell is he to talk about baggage? He knows all of hers and yes, okay, he’s still here. Shouldn’t that say something?) 

"Sometimes I forget she’s real," he whispers, his broad hand rubbing up and down the baby’s back. "Sometimes I forget this is all real."

Her breath hitches in her chest. Holds. She hates doing this to him, she truly does, but she doesn’t know how else to do it. She doesn’t trust herself enough not to mess it all up, not to sabotage it and destroy it and she cannot do that to her little girl. 

"I don’t know what to say, what more to do. I don’t know how to get you to believe me except to stay here every time you tell me we can’t do it, to make it about you as much as it’s about her. I don’t know how to hold onto you when you seem so determined to keep pushing me away."

She gives herself the time it takes to cross the room, enough to think, but not enough to overthink. “I want to believe you,” she says, cups her daughter’s head against his chest. The laugh she releases is bitter. “I really want to believe you.”

She can see the way he braces himself, knows the next question isn’t going to be one she wants to answer. “Why don’t you?”

"I’m not a good bet, Hotch. Isn’t that why it took alcohol to get us to sleep together in the first place? And a baby to keep us that way?"

"Don’t you dare."

Her eyes, resting on the baby, fly to his. There’s fire in his gaze, anger in his voice. It sends her back a half a step. 

"You belittle her, you belittle me and you belittle yourself when you say that." 

He stands then, with surprising ease, shifting the baby to her crib seamlessly. The bar comes up soundlessly, locks into place with a soft click and then he’s dragging her out of the room. He closes the door to their bedroom behind him, spinning to face her with that passion still firing in his eyes. 

"It took alcohol for us to sleep together, yes. But I have been here every step of the way, even after you gave me an out. Even after you gave me plenty of outs. We didn’t have to move in together, Emily. We didn’t have to stay together. I could have easily let you go your own way, but I don’t want you to. I want you here with me. Our daughter too, but  _you_.” His hand comes up to her cheek, cups the curve of it in his hand as his thumb brushes over the underside of her eye.

"Sweetheart, I’ve been here, day in and day out, because I want to be here. For her and for you."

Her eyes close against the onslaught of his gaze, against all of the emotions swirling there. 

"I love you," he tells her, voice low and thick. "I haven’t told you because, God knows you won’t believe me." He brings his forehead to hers, slides his fingers back into her hair to hold her there. She swallows, feels the tears swell. "But I love you."

She lets out the breath that’s backed up in her lungs, doesn’t know what to do with everything that floods her chest. She takes a breath, then another one, tries to figure out what to say next. There are options, of course, but only one that matters. 

"I love you, too."


	61. Boss/Intern AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Hotch/Prentiss - Boss/Intern AU

At precisely 5:10PM, Emily Prentiss saunters into his office. There’s nothing unique and special about it. It’s the same thing she’s done since her second week interning at Behaviour and Us. Their daily debrief on her work.

This one though is bittersweet. It’s been humming beneath his blood all day, this sort of dread that she’s leaving and a weird giddiness that she will no longer be his intern. Because Aaron is neither blind, nor stupid. She is a beautiful woman and while his principles most certainly hadn’t let him do anything more than friendly with her under his command, he can’t lie and say he’s not hoping that now that she’s officially no longer working for him, they can see each other outside of the office. 

"My last debrief," she says settling into a chair across from his desk. She crosses one leg over the other, drawing attention to the way her hemline creeps up. His stomach goes haywire because yes, okay, he’s had fantasies of those legs and this desk but-

_Intern, Aaron. Until she walks out that door tonight._

"I wish you’d reconsider the job offer," he replies, closing his files to give her his full attention. She always has his full attention. "You’d be valuable here. 

She laughs a little. “I’ve enjoyed my time here, but we both know BAU was temporary. I have more front line dreams.”

Oh, yes. She’d made that clear, that she’d taken the position to learn, to help her understand the minds she hoped to one day hunt. She’s been just as invaluable as he’d mentioned, dedicated to the R&D work BAU passes on to law enforcement agencies. Exactly where her passion lay. 

"Yes. The FBI. Quite a change."

She shrugs. “When David Rossi personally shows up in your office to offer you a job, you kind of have to say yes.”

He leans back in his chair, considering her. He wants her, he’s known that for weeks. He’d had plans, very careful ones to ensure that her reputation isn’t sullied by rumours that they’d been more than boss and intern while she’d been working for him but he can feel the draw of her, the knowledge that it is after five and technically, she is no longer his intern. 

Her head tilts to the side. “I can walk outside and come back in, if you want.”

"What?"

She leans forward - had she undone an extra button on her blouse? - a smirk playing about her mouth. “We both know you want me.”

His breath catches, thankfully not audibly. Instead, a wry eyebrow climbs his forehead. “Maybe you will be more of an asset to Agent Rossi.”

She shrugs, a bit nonchalant, but he’s been in the behaviour game too long not to see the tension in it. It makes him feel a bit better, that she’s just as nervous as he is. “I’m going to have his job one day, but that isn’t what we’re talking about.”

God, that confidence is sexy. He doesn’t doubt she could do it. 

"You want me. I want you. And as of," she checks the slim watch on her wrist, "fifteen minutes ago, I’m no longer your intern. So are you going to take me out for drinks or let me walk away?"

He grins, can’t help it because damn, she’s bold and brash and if she’s going to walk out that door as a woman and not his employee, yeah, he wants to go with her.

"I’ll get my coat."


	62. Meeting in the ER AU

The ER on a Saturday is not his idea of a good time. Weekend injuries, drunken melees, and now the victims of their house explosion means the place is utterly packed. But said explosion had also left a witness - Lauren Reynolds, according to reports and statements from the scene - and Hotch had unfortunately pulled the short straw.

 

He flashes his badge at the nurses’ station without batting an eye. “I’m looking for Lauren Reynolds.” 

The nurse checks the computer, then a file to her right. “Exam 4.”

This is not his first trip to the ER. In fact, he waves at some of the nurses as he follows the hallway. The woman in the exam room is pacing, phone pressed to her ear. Her sweater is singed at the shoulder, the cream colour a dull grey due to soot residue and there’s a bandage wrapped around her wrist. 

"Dammit, Clyde, everything we had went up with that house! Evidence, witnesses, the damn book."

Hotch blinks. The hell? 

"Don’t you Emily me. We have a leak, you idiot, and if you don’t plug it while my ass is on the line we’re going to have a problem."

She hangs up with a growl that should not be attractive in and amongst all of the new questions that are flitting about his brain. But then she’s swinging her arm back, winding up to pitch her phone at the wall. He steps in neatly, plucks the device from her hand and tries not to see the way her curls settle around her shoulders as she spins to face him. 

"Lauren Reynolds?"

Her face pales. “Can I help you?”

He ponders for a moment, then tucks the device away. “Agent Hotchner. FBI.”

He only sees the complete transformation because he’s looking for it. The haughty pride disappears, the cover for her fear and irritation. In it’s place is what he assumes is supposed to be a victim. The transformation makes him startle, yes, but he’s surprised to find it also disgusts him. Right before he reminds himself he shouldn’t care whether her obviously fiery temper is more attractive than this slip of a woman.

"Can we do this in the morning?" she asks, her voice so much smaller than the temper laden thing a moment before. His eyebrow goes up. "It’s been a long night."

"Hm," he agrees, but doesn’t budge. "Emily?"

There’s a flicker, the moment she realizes she’s been caught out. Then her shoulders sag and she brings one hand up to rub at her forehead. “Nickname?”

"I’m thinking the other way around. Though with less affection and more law enforcement protection."

He hears her swear under her breath. 

"The truth?"

"And get myself killed?"

"It’s just you and me."

And yet, he watches her check the exam rooms on either side before she steps right into his personal space. “Emily Prentiss. Interpol.”

His eyebrow goes up. “What does Interpol have to do with a blown up brownstone?” 

Her shoulders straighten, her face clearing, becoming every inch the agent he can just bet she is. “Everything, Agent Hotchner. What do you know about Valhalla?” 

(She reads him in, much to her boss’ reluctance. Right up until the moment that his FBI connections help them ground a plane with Valhalla and his top three generals. 

He takes her out that night to celebrate and leaves with her number.)


	63. Meeting Online AU

Winter in DC Is always cold, but it’s never really affected Emily. She’s spent time in Russia’s winters, Eastern Europe, the DC weather is comparatively mild. That doesn’t mean that standing outside for the past 20 minutes is really her cup of tea. 

Her date is late.

 

Her date. 

God, when was the last time she had one of those? The fact that she can’t remember is probably pretty indicative as to the reason Pen had gone and created her online dating profile to begin with. Her friends think she’s pathetic, but it has nothing to do with not wanting to get out there. She’s just… picky. 

But Pen had been adamant about this one and from the brief messages they’d shared, he’d been cordial, polite and definitely no where close to sexual as some of her other ‘suitors’. 

Aaron Hotchner. 

47\. FBI agent. It was the smile that had caught her eye though, the dimples that dug deep into his cheeks. She’d found herself reaching out for that smile in a display of affection more for lost lovers than strangers. 

So when he’d asked her to meet him, in the flesh, she’d said yes. 

She’s only vaguely regretting it. Her legs are cold - pantyhose, she’s wearing pantyhose and she  _hates_  pantyhose - and her fingers are going numb but she’s long ago decided that even putting herself out here is a step in the right direction. 

"Emily."

She cannot help the way her face lights up, even though he looks a little worse for wear. Well, tired mostly. 

"Aaron!" 

She is absolutely floored when he pulls her in close, hugs her tight. It’s forward, for one thing, and she’d pegged him as a little bit more conservative than tactile. Not that she’s complaining, because he is hard and strong against her and she’s trying to dim down her grin when they pull back. She can’t help the way her hands slide from his shoulders to his chest, rest there over his heart. 

"It is so good to meet you face to face."

The position of her hands means she feels the way his body seems to relax and fold in on itself. She looks up in alarm, but his face has gone soft around the edges. 

"You okay?"

"Yeah," he says, shakes his head. "It’s… Been a long day."

"We can postpone," she says immediately, because she wants everything about this to be right with a yearning that would be pathetic if she ever copped to it. 

"No," he says and surprises her again when he takes her hand. "I don’t want to wait."

Her smile is wide and bright as it spreads across her face and she squeezes her hand. “Then let’s go get a drink.”

(They talk about Pen and his co-worker Dave - who had set him up for this to begin with. She’s not weirded out when they talk about his son and while she doesn’t ask for details about his job she tries to let him know it’s totally okay if he wants to tell her. 

They part ways at the curb - and God, that is beautiful in it’s own right, she thinks because there is no pressure here, no pressure at all - as he tucks her into a cab. At the last second she reaches for him, plants a kiss on his mouth that is very much  _not_ friendly. He’s grinning when they pull back and his good night is soft and intimate. 

Three weeks later - a case in Sandpoint had kept him away for two - he takes her dancing. And she takes him home.)


	64. Taking care of the other while sick

"Daddy. Daddy!"

Hotch comes awake with a snap, alert and aware with the panic in Jack’s voice. He’s reaching for his bedside drawer - and the gun inside - even as he asks, “What is it, buddy?” 

"Em’ly’s throwing up in the bathroom."

It takes a moment for his brain to flip over, to stop blaring DANGER and start registering that Emily is sick. 

"Daddy."

"Yeah, buddy," he says, runs a hand over his face as he pushes himself up. She’d mentioned not feeling great earlier, that she was going to call it an early night. There’s something going around Jack’s school and he knows they’d both been so focused on making sure Jack didn’t catch it that maybe they hadn’t been so great about making sure neither of them did. 

It seems they hadn’t been quite as successful. 

The bathroom door’s closed and he knocks with a sigh. “Emily?”

"Fine," he hears her say, weak and thin. "I’m fine."

He and Jack exchange a look, Jack with his serious face on and a shake of his head. Not okay. Not okay at all. So he sighs and pushes open the door. 

She’s resting against the wall, her knees pulled to her chest. Her face is pale, her hair in a hasty ponytail. She does not look well at all. He’s at her side a moment later, sliding down. Jack hovers in the doorway. 

"Sweetheart, you’re not fine."

Her head falls to his shoulder, her eyes fluttering closed. “I am,” she annunciates clearly, slowly. “Better now.” 

He brushes her hair off of her sweaty temple, kisses her head. “What can I get you?” 

"Nothing." There’s a desperate note on her voice. "God, nothing."

"You can’t stay here." He’s already pushing himself up despite her moan, reaching for her hand. She comes slowly and he finds himself supporting the majority of her weight. He wonders how long she’s been in here. 

She takes a minute when he has her standing, forces him to let her breathe. Then he wraps his arm around her waist, and helps her out of the bathroom, back to bed. Jack’s still hovering, at the end of the bed now, chewing on his lip in a way that’s so Emily he has to do a double take. 

"Hey bud. Go grab a glass of water, okay?" 

Jack’s off like a shot and he feels the way Emily relaxes against him just a little bit more. “I hate being sick.”

He chuckles as he tucks the blankets around her. “I thought you were fine.”

Her glare is halfhearted at best, her eyes already fluttering closed. “It’s just a bug.”

Just a bug his ass, he thinks a few hours later when she’s back in the bathroom. This time he’s there with her though, rubbing her back, tucking her against him. 

It’s going to be a long night. 


	65. Hotch finds himself irrationally jealous and Emily kisses away the frown

He is not pouting. He’s just not. He’s a fully grown man that does not pout, thank you very much. And if Emily catches him, she’s going to laugh at him. For ages.

And he’s trying. He really is. He knows that she’s only stateside for a couple of days for some conference or another - she’d told him, he knows she did, but he didn’t really care, so long as it put her in the same zip code - and so they’d made plans. The whole team had made plans. 

It’s not her fault her day ran long, that her flight had been delayed, that by the time he’d picked her up at the airport they’d basically had to go straight to the little pub the team had agreed upon. It’s not his fault either. But he can’t lie and say he wished he’d had some time with just her. 

The team doesn’t know. It’s never come up. He knows they all talk to her, that they all have their ways of keeping Emily in the loop on their lives. But eight months ago he’d had a tough couple of months and some vacation time and, well, he’d gone to her. 

Because Emily had always been there for him, continued to be there, even across an ocean. He can’t count the number of times he’d just called her, the number of times he’d turned to her for advice or support. It had blossomed. 

And now she sits beside him in the booth, laughing animatedly with JJ and Penelope, eyes bright and smile happy and he knows,  _he knows_ , he’s totally bringing down the mood of the party. He just can’t help it. 

He sees JJ nudge her, nod his way and tries to rearrange his face. He’s too late though. He can tell from the tiny eye roll she gives him. He’d told her in the car he wishes they’d scheduled this differently. 

She smiles, nudges JJ. “Come on, Hotch.”

He doesn’t know what she wants to do, but doesn’t much care. In the end, she drags him to the bar. 

"You’re pouting."

His hand goes her hip. He can’t help himself. The bar is busy enough he thinks no one’s really watching them, tucked in a corner as they wait to catch the bartender’s attention. 

"I don’t pout."

"Mmhmm." She doesn’t believe him. "This isn’t like you."

He knows that too. He’s not jealous and while Emily is his - thank you very much - it’s not like he ever feels like he has to “go caveman” as Morgan calls it. Emily can take care of herself. He sighs a little bit surprised when she echoes it. 

"Another hour, okay?" she says quietly. "I miss them."

He wraps his arms around her, pulls her in. She comes easily of course. “I know.”

He does. He really does. They miss her too, no matter how much they also understand that moving to London was something she had to do, personally and professionally. 

He hears her hum. “Okay. Then the pout has to go.”

"Emily, I’m not pouting."

She pulls back a little, strokes her fingers over his cheeks then between his eyes. She cups his face in his palms and tugs him down, kisses the wrinkles she must have found there, then above each eyebrow for good measure. She’s smiling when she pulls back and he can’t help but echo it. 

"There’s that smile I love."

And he can’t help himself, he leans down and kisses her. The cat calls ring out across the bar and he can distinctly hear Dave’s cackle but God, he doesn’t care. Even if they’re in public when he wants to be alone with her, even though they have the nosiest found-family on the planet, he also knows he has her. 

In the meantime, the rest of the world can go hang. 


	66. Emily goes into labour

She’s the only one who doesn’t panic when her water breaks in the office. She actually rolls her eyes at them, her team of international agents currently staring down an undercover a year in the making and they all panic over a little bit of amniotic fluid. 

She calls Hotch in the car, half way through a contraction. Her voice doesn’t waver. His does, though she’s pretty sure it’s because they’re on a case in Baltimore and not because she’s actually, finally giving birth. 

(She feels like she’s been pregnant forever, can’t remember the last time she’s seen her feet and the heartburn…  _The heartburn_. She wants this kid out yesterday.) 

He looks calm when he arrives at the door to her hospital room forty-five minutes later, nothing like he’d broken every traffic law in the tristate area to make it. She grimaces through another contraction and reaches for his hand. He gives it, even though they’ve been joking for months that she can - and likely will - crack the bones in his hand. She knows he doesn’t care. 

Labour is long. She’s had worse pain - a stake through the stomach isn’t exactly comfortable - but they’d given her good drugs in the ambulance. This constant ache in her abdomen is worse and they hold off on the epidural while she tries to get comfortable. 

And then the doctor’s stepping in, telling her it’s time, and she takes Hotch’s hand again to  _push_. She’s pretty sure she does some weird form of blacking out, because she doesn’t remember much of the next few minutes. What she does remember is that loud wail of her baby ( _their_  baby) before Hotch’s lips press to her forehead. 

"It’s a boy," he murmurs to her, and it’s the only thing she can hear over the pounding of her heart, the exhaustion of her body and the squalling of her son. 

Then he’s there, pressed right against her heart, and she rubs a hand over his back for a moment before the nurses take him away. 

"Another boy," Hotch says, his voice soft and reverent.

She laughs a little hysterically because she is  _tired._  ”Jack’ll be pleased. I heard him telling one of his friends he wouldn’t know what to do with a sister.” 

Hotch laughs. 


	67. Talking about having kids

At first, he doesn’t understand the e-mail. He knows what it is, what it reads, but he can’t figure out why it’s there. Why Emily has Penelope vetting adoption agencies.

They’ve never talked about kids. It’s not through any sort of malicious avoidance or concern for one another’s emotional well being, it’s just simply never come up. He knows Emily loves Jack like her own, and given everything they’ve gone through he likes to believe he knows when she’s not happy, when she feels like something’s missing. This should not have blindsided him. Yet, he finds himself sitting there, staring at the thing.

“Hey, dinner’s almost ready. Are you- Hotch?”

“I wasn’t snooping,” he says quietly.

She laughs a little, rolls her eyes. “Which means you were. What case notes did you find?”

It wouldn’t be the first time one of them accidentally came across a brutal case, nor the first time he’d accidentally stumbled across some of her more brutal cases.

“You’ve never said anything about adoption.”

He watches her suck in the breath, watches her pause. “No, I haven’t. I, uh. I’m not sure, to be honest.”

He nods slowly. “But you didn’t tell me.”

“No.” Because there’s no use in lying, they both know it. “I wanted to know if it was possible. What the likelihood was. I wanted to have a plan.”

It’s surprisingly reassuring. She is the type and he knows that. 

She comes to him now, leans against him a little. His hand comes up around her back, his palm curling around the bone of her hip. Hers curls around the back of his neck, strokes at the little hairs there. 

"Kids," he says after a beat. 

She hums. “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it since we broke up that human trafficking ring last month. The kids?” 

He remembers that. Sort of. It took him two weeks of her jumping him around every corner to get it out of her. Torture, humiliation, kids in cages and the slow, methodical work of finding their families. The number of kids with no family to go home to. 

"We could still try for biological," she murmurs quietly, sifting her fingers through his hair. 

"But you don’t want to." He feels like that’s obvious. He’s looking at an email that kind of proves it. 

She sighs. “There are risks. And the wait for my birth control to wear off, plus nine months for pregnancy. I don’t know how I feel about being close to seventy when I send my kid off to college.” 

But that’s not it. He can feel it. So he waits, aware that she’ll give it up eventually. 

"There are already so many kids out there without parents. And I think we both know biology isn’t everything." 

Because Jack is hers, the same way Jack is his. 

"It’s not a deal-breaker," she says, like he doesn’t already know that. They are solid and they are happy. He knows that. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel like it’s something he can give her. 

"But you want it." 

There’s a beat of silence. “I think it’s something worth exploring.”

He runs his fingers over her hip, thinks about it. “Okay.”

"Hm?"

"Okay," he repeats, tilting his head so he can catch her gaze. "Let’s look into adoption." 

Her smile is radiant, her kiss hot and thorough. And when dinner’s cold by the time they get to it, neither of them really care. Instead, she pulls up her laptop with the adoption agency’s website and they spend their cold dinner looking into the details of bringing home a new addition to their family. 


	68. Staring into each other's eyes

The first time he does it, he’s looking for lies.

She is young - so, so young - bright-eyed, eager and he hates the way he feels manipulated. They’ve only just lost Elle and no matter what pretty words Agent Prentiss has, everything about her still feels off. Like he’s being backed into a corner.

So even though her eyes - big and brown not that he’s filing that away, of course, he’s just observant - scream innocence and maybe a little bit of tempered excitement now that he’s kind of stepped all over her, he’s snappy and unwelcoming.

But then she’s there when he returns with steel in her spine and confidence in those eyes and he knows he doesn’t stand a chance.

.

The second time, he’s trying to decide if he should lie.

Everything is a mess, from Gideon to Strauss to Haley and all he can think is that this isn’t her fault. She’s managed to get herself naively caught in Strauss’ vendetta - and he tries not to think that a woman brought up in the brutal world of politics should have seen Strauss’ manipulation coming - but making sure the two of them get to Milwaukee before the case blows up is really more important than anything else.

So in the end, he doesn’t lie. He doesn’t come anywhere close. He is brutally and painfully honest about everything. Except the absolute and utter relief he feels at having her beside him again.

.

The third time, he hates everything he sees.

Helplessness, devastation, guilt, deep-rooted sadness, and betrayal layered on top of it all. Ad he knows he’s responsible for the last one. It guts him, if he’s honest. The one time she comes to him, actually asks him for help and his hands are completely tied. The one time he wants to help her more than anything and he can’t.

He has nightmares about those eyes, about how bloody helpless he’d been in the whole thing, and it’s the first time he really stops to think that maybe Emily matters more than a simple colleague.

.

The fourth time her eyes are glazed with pain, blood dripping down the side of her face, a table leg through her stomach.

He’s never felt so devastated. Not since Haley’s murder anyway and this, this feels worse. Because he could have done something if she’s just spoken up. If she’d just said she needed him. He wanted her to say she needed him. Instead he’d found her phone, his grinning face blinking up at him from the caller display, and then this.

He knows there’s so much he wants to say. He can feel it all on the tip of his tongue. How much she means to him. How special she is. How much it meant to have her come and drag him out of his darkness. How she’s never let him drown.

But none of it comes, just stays there choked in his throat while the monitor screams of her stopped heart.

.

The fifth time he has all the words.

He’s known she’s been off, known that Easter’s trying to poach her away - and he can’t blame the man, they both know the solid work Emily is capable of, how she can lead and follow and how damn good she is. So when he sees her standing there, anxious and worried he knows what’s coming.

So he sits there while JJ and Will have their wedding, while they all eat and celebrate because that is what they do when good things are happening around them. But then he finds her in his arms, that bittersweet look on her face and all of his words dry up.

Because whatever he wants -  _her_ , his brain’s been screaming for months now - it’s nothing compared to what she needs.

.

He’s supposed to be smoother than this.

There’d been no hesitation in her when he’d called, no blink, nothing. She’d booked Interpol’s private jet and been across the pond before he could even tell her what’s going on. And working with her again, having her at his side, clearing the building and knowing,  _knowing,_ that it’s all going to be okay had left him with only one option.

But he’s supposed to pull her aside quietly, not corner her in the halls going to the bathroom.

"Hotch."

"i’ve missed you."

Her body softens, her smile this thing of wonder. “I’ve missed you too.”

But then he’s reaching for her, wrapping his hand around her wrist, crowding her until she’s pressed against the wall with dark, aware eyes. “No. I’ve missed you.”

(And she goes back to his apartment later, carves herself an extra six hours. He stares at her while he touches her, reminds himself over and over and over that she’s there, beneath him. He looks her in the eye when she shatters and that, that is how they begin.)


	69. Hotch interrogates Ian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotch interrogating Ian and Ian bragging to Hotch about killing/hurting Emily (pissing hotch tf off ofcourse 

Hotch throws the first punch. 

He will maintain to the end of his days that it is  _not_  his fault. Not technically. The recording shows just how much Doyle baited him, the things that Doyle said about the ‘dead’ Emily and what he’d done. 

_You know, she never screamed. Not once._

_She was always at her most beautiful when we were fighting._

_She struggled, Agent Hotchner. I can remember the sounds. Your Agent Prentiss is very different from my Lauren._

The tip of the iceberg too. Hotch had known, of course. He’d demanded Emily’s unredacted Interpol file from Easter before sending her away. He’s read her report, read all the details. And he knows that as much as Ian feels like Emily is different from Lauren, Hotch isn’t so sure. 

He’s tried to take comfort in that. He’s tried to keep his mind from wandering down the path of her beaten and broken body, the bright red scar of the brand Ian had seared into her skin. But, well. He is only human. 

“Hotch! Hotch!”

That’s Morgan’s voice. Hotch barely pays it any mind. 

“Dammit, Hotch, stop!”

That most certainly is not Morgan’s voice. 

He turns as Ian does, both of them wide-eyed. She looks beautiful, whole, healed. Strong. She has her hands on her hips, no apology in her gaze as she glares at them both. There’s a glint of satisfaction there too, the knowledge that she’s beaten Ian at his own game, stayed away, stayed safe and now that he’s caught, she is here to gloat. 

And dear God, if that doesn’t turn him on. 

So he does as she asks, steps back, aware that Ian can see just how much of Lauren is currently sparking in Emily’s gaze. There’s the ruthlessness there, the strength and defence, the wholeness that comes with the dark and the light balancing each other out in her personality. 

Oh, he thinks, he’s going to enjoy watching this. 


	70. Babymoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotch and a pregnant Prentiss going on their last vacation as "just the two of them"?

A babymoon. 

She’d always thought it was a ridiculous notion, but as she sits curled up against Hotch in the early morning hours - Baby’s been giving her brutal acid reflux along with nasty Braxton-Hicks - she finds that maybe it isn’t as ridiculous as she’d thought. 

“I’m going to miss this.”

“Hm?” he inquires, rubbing a hand over her arm. His other rubs circles over her baby bump, soothing their very own karate kid. 

“This. Just us.”

She can tell by his silence he’s not totally sure what she means. 

“With Jack… He gets it. He goes to friends’ houses, has sleepovers. But Bean won’t. We can kiss our alone time goodbye for at least three years.”

He presses a kiss to her temple. “Eighteen months,” he counters. “It’s not like we don’t have a number of babysitters on call.”

She chuckles, leans back to press her own kiss to the underside of his jaw. “I’m not sure I trust Reid with my kid. JJ may have made him godfather, but that’s a lot of trust. And you know kids hate him.”

She doesn’t mean it. Not really. But it makes Hotch smile. “Is that why you chose David Rossi as godfather?”

“No,” she replies, a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “I lost a bet.”

He snorts. “You picked our child’s godfather in a bet?” 

“I was sick of arguing about it,” she replies with a grin, tilting her head back to press a kiss to his jaw. 

“Godmother too?”

“No,” she says, feels him relax underneath him. “That was rock, paper, scissors.”

He groans. 


	71. Demonology - John doesn't make it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If the team didn't get to John in time in Demonology & Emily was left devastaded after losing 2 of her friends.

He doesn’t leap for her in the immediate aftermath. 

By this point, he likes to think he knows better. He likes to believe he’s just a little more careful with her, with feelings she buries deep but he’s learned she feels so, so intensely. 

In the end, he waits five days. 

Five agonizing days, if he’s honest with himself. Emily Prentiss is many things, but she is not the type to need a saviour. The thing is, he knows what it’s like to lose everyone. He remembers what it feels like to have Haley choose to walk away, to take Jack with him, to have Sean go dark. It’s not the same, he’s not stupid, but it’s similar enough that he can understand and he can sympathize. 

And hopefully, hopefully he can comfort too. 

Her eyes aren’t red and puffy, they’re not even really tired as she opens the door, gives him a little smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He holds out the carton of chocolate milk. (”Comfort food,” she’d explained to him once as he’d watched her down a gallon on an LA-DC flight. “Nothing better.”) and watches her smile widen just a bit. 

“I’m okay, you know.”

He watches her for another beat. “No. No you’re not. No one would be.”

She sighs and steps back, lets him in. 

Somewhere half way through the carton (it’s totally her, he’s more the strawberry milk type) she leans her head on his shoulder. “Thanks for coming.”

He wraps his arm around her, rests his head against hers. “Always.”


	72. Emily talks to Haley's candle about being a good mother

He will never be sure what woke him.

It’s not ESP, because he is a practical man, and it’s not like he’d had some sort of nightmare or been startled from sleep with a sound. But when he does manages to pull himself up from the shadows of La La Land, he discovers Emily’s side of the bed is empty.

The apartment isn’t big, so it doesn’t take him more than a handful of minutes to find her in the kitchen, bent over a candle.

“Emily?” 

Her head comes up, her hand falls to the slight bump of their still growing baby. “Did I wake you?”

(”It’s knitting,” she’d told him once, a smirk on her face. “A bit like a loom.”

“I think that’s weaving,” he’d answered.

“No. Definitely knitting.”)

“No,” he eventually answers, presses a kiss to her head and kneads her shoulders. “You weren’t in bed.”

“Oh,” she replies. “Sorry.”

He grunts out something he hopes sounds negative because she does not need the stress and he’s not upset. “A candle?”

She laughs, and it takes him a minute to figure out she’s laughing at herself. “Haley.”

This he understands immediately. “You’re talking to my now-dead ex-wife?”

“Hush,” she says, but it’s not really a rebuke. “I’m asking for parenting advice.”

Hotch sighs. It’s an old conversation, one they’ve been having since they found out she was pregnant, one they’d been having long before their new Peanut. He knows Emily’s terrified of screwing it up, with him, with Jack, with this new little life and he’s done everything in his power to make her see that she is more than good enough.

“It’s not like I had the best role model,” she points out softly. 

“You are the role model,” he tells her as his fingers stroke along the back of her neck. “And if you’re looking to Haley…”

When he does say anything after a beat she tilts her head back, lets it rest on the soft cotton of his t-shirt. “Go on.”

“Haley loved Jack. Endlessly and unconditionally. She made sacrifices for him every day, and eventually the ultimate sacrifice. She taught him how to trust, how to work for the things he wants, how valuable family and friends are. She taught him to be strong and to be kind.”

Emily groans and leans forward to rest her forehead on her palm, her arm protectively over Peanut. “That is entirely not helpful.”

He strokes a hand through her hair. “Emily, sweetheart. That’s you.”

“What?”

“You love fiercely, with all your heart. When you choose someone to love you do it without conditions, and with the knowledge that there are always sacrifices. You are protective, and kind, and strong. Whether this Peanut is a boy or a girl, you will teach them all of those things, the same way you’re carrying on Haley’s work with Jack.”

He sees her swallow, cups the back of her head as he kisses her.

“You don’t need Haley’s advice. You can already do all of the things she did,” he tells her. “You already do.”

She sighs and he finds himself wondering if it’s possible to actually feel tension slide out of a person’s shoulders. She tilts her head, an invitation for a kiss that he takes with pleasure.

“Thank you,” she says. 

He smiles, leans over to blow out the candle. “Come on. Bed time.”

She goes without complaint and while it’s not the end of her worries, it’s the last time he sees her pull out that candle.


	73. Hotch sees Emily flirting with Sean and gets jealous

Look, he gets it. He is a grown man and he is honestly above petty jealousy. He is. But that doesn’t mean that Emily’s current and very, very friendly discussion with his brother really makes him feel good about himself.

Not that he’s oblivious. Sean is handsome, blond and has that edge to him that Hotch knows women gravitate towards. And more than that, it’s the type of guy from his (innocently) overheard conversations that tends to be Emily’s style. 

He of sighs, resigned, and leaves them to it, heads to his office where everything is calm and sure. Ordinary. (Emily is none of those things. He knows that’s why he likes her. And, because his love life did not mature when he did, he why he like,  _likes_  her.)

He broods for an hour. Or at least, that’s what Sean tells him when he barges through his office door. “I mean, you’ve always been serious but were you really not going to say goodbye?” 

“Of course not,” Hotch replies, standing and rounding the desk to clap Sean on the back. “I don’t see you enough as it is.”

“And yet you’ve holed yourself up in here. So what gives?”

The old Hotch, he knows, wouldn’t say a thing. He’d laugh it off, say something about work, something about being busy and distracted and aware Sean had been in good hands. But the new Hotch, the one that Emily herself had coaxed out so very carefully and tenderly after Haley (after  _all_  of Haley, and it is still surreal that the only thing of his high school sweetheart left breathing is his son) manages to check the impulse. It’s another one that rises up in him instead.

“Take care of her.”

Sean’s eyebrow rises. Hotch finds himself absently wondering if that’s the look the team always talks about. “Sorry?” 

Hotch rubs his forehead, feeling as stupid as he knows he sounds. It’s never been his style, warning Sean to take care of someone. It’s always been more Hotch’s thing. But this is  _Emily_  and he cannot sit idly by. 

“Emily,” Hotch answers. “Take care of Emily. She’s not… You can’t treat her like you treat other women.”

“Other wom- Aaron, you think I… No.”

Hotch ignores the relief. He really does. He tells himself there is no tension leaking out of his frame. Sean knows better. And Hotch knows better than to really trust the smirk that’s growing over his brother’s face. 

(They’ve grown a lot since they were truly brothers, changed in unmistakable ways, but he finds in this, in the intimate parts of their lives, they’re still the same. Their tells are the same, their emotions work the same, and the insecurities that haunted them when they were teenagers haven’t dissipated in the slightest.)

“She’s a good woman,” Sean says, sly and clever. “But more your speed than mine, don’t you think?”

Hotch blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“Aaron,” Sean says on a laugh. A bright laugh, that will brighten Emily’s day, battle back against the darkness he knows she fights. Not drag her down further like he will. 

“God, you are aren’t you? Fifty-two years old and you are still absolutely oblivious to when a woman’s into you.”

He knows he should say something, preferably witty and off-putting that has Sean just shaking his head before he leaves, but nothing’s coming to him. Nothing comes out when he opens his mouth either. 

Sean’s smug. Incredibly smug. He reaches out, claps Hotch on the shoulder. “Look, I’m going to give you some advice, brother to brother. Something I have literally never had the opportunity to do through all of our lives to give me a moment while I wallow in this.”

The smile tilts the corner of Hotch’s mouth. It’s no secret Sean’s the black sheep of the Hotchner family. 

“Ask her to dinner.” He holds up a hand when Hotch goes to contradict him. “You of all people know how important people are. You know what it’s like to lose people you care about, people you love. You know what it’s like to regret not saying anything when saying something could be wonderful. So you’d be stupid not to grab this chance with both hands and your teeth and hold onto it with all your might.”

Hotch shifts, not at all comfortable with any of this. 

“You forget, I’m your brother. I’ve seen you fight for what matters. I’ve seen you work at what matters. She matters, Aaron. So for once in your adult life do something you  _want_  rather than what you think you should.” Sean shrugs. “Who knows. It may surprise you.”

Hotch merely blows out a breath, settles his hands on his hips. It’s a lot to take in and while he appreciates Sean’s encouragement… “I’ll think about it.”

This time, his brother sighs. “One day, not doing what you want is going to leave you missing out.”

“So I’m told.”

Still, the brothers embrace. 

“Thanks for coming by,” Hotch says. 

“Anytime. Come up to New York.”

Hotch smiles. “I will.”

He watches through the blinds as Sean says goodbye to the team, tries to shove down the feelings that still rise within him as Sean places a friendly hand on Emily’s shoulder, leans in to say something in a low voice. Her face slips into surprise, then warms and she nods. 

They all watch Sean leave, then he notices Emily’s shoulders rise and fall in a deep, fortifying breath. She turns and meets his eyes through the blinds and oh. 

 _Oh_. 

She holds his gaze as she heads for his office, climbs the stairs and doesn’t even bother to knock. Instead, she leans just inside the door. 

“You know, for a profiler you can be a little dense.”

The smile comes back, spreads across his face. “Pick you up at eight?”

She grins back. “Smart man.”


	74. Emily asks Hotch to ask her to stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotchniss, post-JJ's wedding, post-the H/P 'date' where she tells him she wants out, but pre-her leaving. Emily rocks up at his house and calls him out on the fact that he's not happy she wants to go. Like though he would never say it, never could, won't guilt her into staying because he couldn't do that to her, she still knows that's how he feels and she calls him out on it.

It’s a strange thing, she thinks, to be bounding up these stairs two at a time, more than a little frustrated. In fact, she’s borderline pissed right off. She’d given him literally every opportunity, more opportunities than she should have, actually, and he hadn’t stepped up. 

So now she’s at his apartment door, two days after their coffee ‘date’, riding the edge of her patience. 

She’s come to discover with painful clarity that Hotch will never ask for anything, will never reach out and take things even she thinks he’s entitled to and will never, ever,  _ever_  ask for something at the detriment of someone else’s happiness. Except this time, it’s not just his happiness at stake; it’s hers. 

She’s been working to get him to see her, pushing him now that she’s back from her Doyle-induced exile. She knows with absolute clarity that she no longer wants to leave thing unsaid, no longer wants to be worried about ‘what if’s and ‘could-have-beens’. 

So she knocks, three hard raps, and waits. 

“Emily.”

She all but shoves him out of the way as she steps into the apartment, then turns with an accusing finger. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Sorry?” But he still closes the door, locks it, maybe a little out of habit. 

“I am not blind, nor am I stupid. You and I have been dancing around A Thing for months.”

Everything drops off his face, from confusion to the gentle pleasure that sparkles in his eyes when he sees her and she knows she’s got him. 

“You’re leaving,” he tells her, his voice also void of emotion. But it’s what Emily can’t hear that’s important, the conspicuous lack of denial. “And you want to do this now?”

“What better time?” she shoots back. 

“Months ago?” he offers. “When we had time to see if we could make something of this?”

“You mean somewhere between you worrying that I was still damaged from Doyle and convincing yourself you weren’t good for me?” 

“Our baggage could fill a small country.”

A smile tilts at the corner of her face despite herself. “You say that like it should make me nervous.”

“It should.”

“Why?”

“You don’t need anything more, Emily,” he tells her, finally stepping into the living room to perch on the other end of the couch. “You have enough to recover from, and now I find out you don’t even feel comfortable here-”

“Stop.”

He glares. He hates being told to shut up and she knows it, but she also knows it’s actually incredibly effective. His irritation snaps his mouth shut in a blink. 

She sighs, shifts a bit uncomfortably. “It’s not the States that’s the problem. It’s not even DC that’s the problem.”

He stays silent, waits her out like he always does. It makes her feel better, sooths her frayed nerves. It’s one of the things she actually likes most about him. 

“I… they want me to be the same person I was before they found out about Lauren.”

“Emily.”

She shakes her head, sucks in a deep breath. “Look, Easter gave me a reason to get out, gave me an excuse to leave.” She fixes her eyes on him, solid, strong and serious. “Give me a reason to stay.”

“No,” he breathes. “Emily, don’t ask me to do that.”

Because she might regret it later. Because she might discover that he really isn’t a good enough reason to stay. But if she’s going to take a risk, then she sure as hell won’t be the only one. 

“Too late,” she replies. “You want me here, Hotch. We both know that. So _ask_.” 

He doesn’t. Instead he slips over a few cushions, cups her cheek in his palm. “You can’t regret this,” he tells her. “Emily, I’d never forgive myself.”

“There wouldn’t be anything to forgive,” she answers, her eyes falling closed. “God, for once in your life take a damn risk.”

It takes way longer than she’d like and despite the way his thumb strokes her cheek. Eventually, however, she hears his intake of breath. 

“Open your eyes, sweetheart. Please.”

She does, wary, worried. His are dark and rich, beautiful. 

“Stay,” he whispers. “Emily, stay here.”

“Yes.”


	75. Emily's branding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for canon level violence.
> 
> Just like how when Reid was kidnapped and the team was "forced" to watch him suffer, the team has to again see Emily sufffer and watch her being branded.

It’s the position he hates. He feel like he’s spent too much time watching his team get injured, get battered and worse. And now he is absolutely regretting asking Garcia to back trace a signal. 

(The details of it are lost on him. Something about the slimy asshole who’d died and camera angles. He doesn’t care how. He cares that they have.)

But this…

He’s been drinking her in since the camera flickered on, his knuckles white, fists clenched tight enough to draw blood in his palms. But God,  _God_. Haven’t they been through enough? 

And then Doyle brings the machine around Emily’s chair. 

“Oh my God,” comes Garcia’s voice in his ear. “Oh my God, it’s not fast enough.”

They can’t hear what’s going on, but Hotch knows every look on Emily’s face. He’s watching close enough to see terror, give way to resignation and feels nausea rise in his throat.

The next few seconds happen in a split second and simultaneously feeling like forever. Hotch hears Dave grasp as Doyle rips Emily’s blouse, then both Morgan and Garcia cry out as Doyle brings the branding wand to Emily’s chest. Her head tips back on screen as she cries out and Hotch’s eyes slam shut.

 _We will find you_ , he finds himself promising the air.  _Just hold on Emily. We will find you._

He’s not sure what makes him look over at Morgan, but it certainly doesn’t take a profiler to read the fear and fury on the other man’s face. 

_We will find you. And we will kill him, sweetheart. That’s a promise._


	76. Emily's Lauren-related panic attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emily on edge (before Lauren) and looking very sleepless and jumpy in fear of Doyle. In the team room someone mentions the name Lauren & Emily has a panic attack. (Hotch later confronts her about it asking her what's wrong & how he can protect/help her)

She slips into the storage closet in the nick of time.

The door slams behind her (she should care, someone will find her and that is actually and literally the last thing she wants right now) but God, she needs to be able to catch her breath before she can care. And she can’t. She can’t breath. Her chest hurts, her lungs burn and she can feel the tears leaking out of her eyes. 

Lauren Reynolds. 

She’d been sure she’d put it all away. She’d been sure she’d packed it up in a nice little box that she would never, ever, ever bring up again. It’s too bad Ian Doyle and the BAU hadn’t gotten that memo. 

And now that name, that God damn name is pinned on the board in front of her entire team. 

She feels like everything is turning on it’s head, ever well-crafted piece of her personality, every piece of her personality she’s pushed under the table… It’s redacted, sure, but she does not like her chances. Not when it comes to the tenacity of the BAU and the absolute terror that Doyle evokes in any intelligent law enforcement agency. 

The first sob is entirely choked off. The inhale almost makes her choke. The next sob hurts everywhere. 

“Emily.”

Oh God. Oh God no. Not him. Anyone but him. 

“Away.” It’s all she can manage to get out as she swings her arm at him. “Away.”

But he doesn’t go. Of course he doesn’t go. He catches her hand, holds fast and her chest releases. The sobs are deep and hard and  _everything_. She barely has the strength to slide down the wall, to manage to breathe through the sobs let alone fight him off. 

“Emily.”

He’s not making her feel any better. His arms feel like he’s suffocating her, and she scrabbles to get him off, to get space, to get breath. 

“Okay, okay.”

She expects him to walk away, to move away, maybe to call someone else, to shuffle her off on someone like JJ who deals with traumatized victims. But Hotch doesn’t move away. He reaches out instead, wraps his fingers around her ankle. 

“I’m going to squeeze, okay? I’m going to squeeze your ankle. Think you can breathe as long as I squeeze? In when it’s tight, out when it’s loose.”

She shakes her head. No. No she can’t. 

“Yes you can.” His voice is smooth, is calm. “Ready?”

She shakes her head violently, harshly, enough that between the sobs and the fact that air is so incredibly precious, leaves her dizzy and the world more than a bit foggy around the edges. 

“Okay, in… 2… 3. And out.”

It takes time, but three becomes four, and four becomes five, and by then her eyes are clear and her breath is coming easier. He’s shifted in the process, slid against the wall beside her instead of in front of her. When his brain clears, she can feel the heat of his shoulder against hers, his thigh. 

It’s still a couple of minutes before he speaks.

“Do you know her?” Hotch asks quietly. His eyes are dark earnest. “Lauren Reynolds.”

Her hand clenches on his wrist. He squeezes her ankle and she breathes with it again, in five beats, out for five beats. He does it again. Then a third time. 

“Do you know Lauren Reynolds?”

This time, she’s the one who breathes, totally on her own, before red-rimmed eyes come up to meet his. 

“Hotch. I am Lauren Reynolds.”


	77. Mix&Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I’m pregnant.
> 
> 2\. Emily in her wedding dress
> 
> 3\. I’ve seen you look at me when you think I don’t notice.
> 
> 4\. No one needs to know.
> 
> 5\. Hotch listening to Emily in Cyrus' compound

**I'm Pregnant.**

“I’m pregnant.”

Quick reflexes are the only thing that keeps them from skidding off the road. “What?” 

“That’s what our vic told the UNSUB. Jennifer Hopper. That’s what she said to him.”

He has no idea how he keeps a straight face when everything behind him is a mess. They’ve barely begun, the two of them. The last thing he should be thinking of is those two words uttered in an entirely different context. 

_Her hand over her stomach._

_A stick on the counter._

_A smile and utter and complete joy._

“It’s the only thing that makes sense, Hotch. It has to be!”

He has to mentally shake his head, jolt himself. She’s looking for an answer, an acknowledgement. 

“Yes. Perfect sense.” 

She reaches for the phone, grappling with it, speed dialing Garcia with the phone half way out of her pocket. But he’s the one left with that picture, that joy. 

He glances over at her as she chatters, excited and happy and  _everything_. 

Maybe one day. 

 

* * *

**Emily in her wedding dress**

He doesn’t remember much about their wedding day. It’s not his fault, of course, because the second he’d seen her at the end of the aisle, a nuclear war could have exploded right beside them and he wouldn’t notice. 

All he really remembers is that she was utterly resplendent. Happiness poured from her, the short skirt of her breezy dress swirling around her knees. He remembers the pink of her toes, the curls in her hair, and the contrast against the grass.

The only other thing he remembers is the look on her face when she said “I do”.

* * *

**I’ve seen you look at me when you think I don’t notice.**

“Okay, something’s going on. And don’t try to lie to me. I’ve seen you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

Hotch sighs.Because she’s right at the end of the day. He’s got something on his mind, something that’s been, well, eating at him. 

But he’s not sure she’s ready. They’ve been taking things slow, always slow, because there’s just so much between them at this point. There are so, so many bumps they’ve been through; two steps forward and four steps back. It has been a long, hard battle and he thinks that maybe, just maybe, this may be the thing that pushes them back as well. 

So he hasn’t said a thing. He should have known better of course. It’s Emily for one and she’s damn good. 

She’s always been damn good. 

“Hotch, come on. It’s driving me crazy.”

He believes it. He almost wants to laugh, but he also knows how tenacious she is. How determined. He knows she will find ways to pester him and more importantly, he’ll find ways for Jack to pester him. 

“It can’t be that scary,” she says on a laugh. “After everything we’ve been through you can’t tell me anything worse.”

He’s not so sure about that. He’s not so sure she’s wrong either. 

“I want us to move in together.”

Silence greets his confession until he manages to gather the courage to look up at her and the stunned look on her face. Stunned and joyful. 

“You idiot.”

He actually has to dodge the hand that reaches out for him. 

“I have been freaking out! You had me sure you were going to… I don’t know.” She huffs. “Are we looking for an apartment or a house?” 

* * *

**No one needs to know.**

“No one needs to know.”

JJ meets his gaze over Emily’s sedated form, eyes serious as much as anguished. “Of course, sir.” But still, she swallows. Doyle’s still out there, still looking for his son. Still a danger. “Will she…?”

He has all of the platitudes. The doctors say she’s going to recover - physically, anyway - and he’s pulled in every favour he’s owed to build the file he holds in his hands. It’s the best he can do under the circumstances and considering he doesn’t want to do it at all.

He doesn’t want to send Emily away.

But she’d barely made it through this alive and they’ve already told the team she’s dead and…

“When she’s ready you’re going to take her to Europe,” he says, voice strong. He cannot waver in front of JJ. They’ve been so careful, he and Emily, so careful and delicate about what they’ve become to each other. It won’t do either of them any good to start spilling that now. Even if it’s just to JJ. 

She takes the file from his outstretched hands. “She’ll be safe?”

He looks down at Emily, the woman he’d never thought he’d even like, let alone love. “She has to be.”

* * *

**Hotch listening to Emily in Cyrus' compound**

He is supposed to stay out. They have a deal (it’s more than a deal between the two of them though, with Cyrus’ threats hanging over their heads and so many innocent heads inside) and he  _cannot_  go in. 

Except. 

He’ll call it extenuating circumstances later, when she’s safe and whole and okay in every sense of the word. 

When they’re okay. 

But right now they are not and he cannot sit idly by. 

“No. You heard her.”

Hotch looks up at Derek, eyes blazing. “She can, maybe, but dammit Morgan, she’s pregnant and I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand here while she miscarries because of that bastard.”

Morgan’s reaching for kevlar the moment he says ‘pregnant’, his own eyes now blazing and bright. “Why did you send her?” 

Because it wasn’t supposed to turn out like this. 

It was an  _investigation_  for God’s sake. They were supposed to go in, get the information with Social Services and get out. Quick, simple, painless. And then some idiot, some absolute nutter had gone and… 

And now. 

The plan they put together while gearing up is ramshackle at best but by God, it’ll work. 

It has to. 

 


	78. Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?

“Did you really just crack a smile for me?”

He looks across the table at her, twisting his glass of bear between his hands. He can feel the way his cheeks tense, he can feel the way his mouth twitches. It’s been so long, he thinks, between Haley and Jack and Foyet…

“I’m in the Twilight Zone.”

He can’t help the way his eyes roll, can’t help the way the weirdly amused exasperation rises up in him. She’s been doing that for a while now, trying to raise his spirits. Maybe since the divorce papers, the prison. 

“You know I actually understood that reference?” 

Her mouth drops open, a comical kind of surprise, one that she is definitely putting on for his benefit. He’s been a little surprised, actually, just how far her goofiness goes. It’s been locked up in a box, he’s learned, this ‘other side’ of her that keeps Jack from getting too bogged down, that pulls JJ up on bad days, that helps Derek and Garcia move forward from day to day to day. 

Emily. 

“I am shocked, Agent Hotchner. A pop culture reference you actually understand.”

“I had a childhood.”

“I just assumed that was where you learned not to smile.”

His mouth twitches harder, even as he bites his cheeks against it. He has a reputation to maintain and even if she is a bit nuts - such a good nuts, he’s starting to think, for everyone else and for him - he cannot break that. His command will break with it, his long-standing control. His legendary control.

“I have a lot of practice.”

“Uh huh. Sure. I saw it. I know what I saw.” 

His traitorous mouth twitches again as he watches her lean back in the booth, her arms folded over her chest.

“You definitely just smiled.”

He can’t help it, can’t do anything but let that smile stretch wide across his face. He chuckles, actually chuckles and as her smile stretches just as wide and bright across her face he feels that smile, that chuckle, deepen into a real laugh. 

“Not just a smile, but a laugh.”

“Maybe you should buy a lottery ticket.”

“And wit! This is a night to remember.”

He grins.


	79. I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.

“I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified.”

The spoon clatters to the floor as she spins to face him, trying to shove down the panic that rose up inside her. It’s supposed to be a joyful moment, she knows, it’s supposed to be everything. Amazing. Hearing those words from his mouth…

But not like this. 

It’s not… it’s not normal. He doesn’t even know her, hasn’t dated her, hasn’t… 

“What?” 

He’s courteous enough to stay on the other side of the counter, presses his palms to the countertop. His fingers flex and relax, the knuckles going white as he presses down. 

“I don’t know what to do.”

She sucks in a deep breath, bends down to pick up the spoon again. They both recognize it as a moment, time to try and flip her brain on again. 

“You don’t love me.”

He releases a noise that makes her flinch and put the spoon down again. It’s her turn to brace her hands on the counter. It feels insane. Beyond insane. 

“How can I not?” he asks quietly. “Emily, you’re here. All the time. You cook us dinner, you play with my son. You keep me from diving head first into my work. Emily, you’ve done  _everything_.” 

“So you need me.”

“Yes.”

“That’s not love.”

“Emily-”

“it’s  _not_. You know it and I know it. Hotch-”

He’s around the corner a moment later, just as she turns. “We’ve spent a lot of time together.”

“Not- Not like that.” 

“So let’s.”

“Hotch-”

“No.” He reaches for her then, gets her hands in his. “I know you. I’ve known you a long time. I know I love you. Let me show you.”

She can feel the way her chest shakes as she inhales. “Okay,” she whispers. It’s not what she’d meant to say. At all. But she can’t change the way excitement rises in her, the realization that maybe this is the chance she’d been too cowardly too take. “Okay.”

She gets both dimples for that, the brightest excitement. 

“Okay.”


	80. This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.

“This is, without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had,” Dave says, “They are both adults, they don’t need our help.”

Except, you know, Dave knows better. Whatever the  _thing_  is between Hotch and Emily - and there is a thing, he is not blind - is between them. And yes, okay, their efforts to set them both up with other people - because there are regulations and fraternization policies; he should know - have resulted in zilch, that does not mean they should be encouraging them to flaunt the rules. 

They shouldn’t be encouraging them to put their friendship at risk. 

So he sighs, because he knows, he  _knows_  that otherwise Garcia will go all out and the quiet that Hotch and Emily both enjoy will be out the window. He needs to do this because he is a good friend. A great friend. That’s all. 

Not because he just wants them to stop being idiots. 

“I’m in.”

Garcia grins and Dave things she’d be clapping her hands if it weren’t to insane-looking. Then she looks around the room, at the group of assembled co-conspirators. 

“Here’s what we’re going to do…”

* * *

Emily’s not really paying attention as she steps into one of DC’s more upscale restaurants, half way through a sassy response to Hotch’s latest message. She hates this, going out on blind dates with men she knows she has to let down gently. It’s not their fault, it’s just… she has someone. She has Hotch. 

But they have reputations, appearances to keep. There’s the regulations to consider and just how many people would be involved, not to mention the number of noses that would suddenly be shoulder deep in their lives. As if the BAU doesn’t already live in each other’s pockets. 

“Emily?”

Her head comes up from the phone, eyes widening as they land on none other than Hotch. “What are you doing here?”

Then it hits her, a strange and bright moment of clarity. 

They’ve been set up. 

“They didn’t.”

Hotch chuckles, sliding his hands into his pockets. There are many things she likes about that pose, not the least of which is the fact that it’s more ‘off-duty Hotch’s’ thing. Domestic, in a Pavlovian way. 

“Looks like they did.”

She groans as she tucks her phone back in her purse. “They set us up.”

A tiny smile curves the corner of his mouth now, amusement dancing in his eyes. She moves into him both out of desire and habit and his hands come out of his pockets to wrap around her. He leans down for a chaste kiss. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

He kisses her again. “Don’t be upset with them.”

She laughs a little, leans her head on his shoulder. “How can I be? They set me up with you.”

“We get date night after all.”

“And they get… well, I don’t know,” she says, wrapping her arm around him and pausing while he gives the matre’d their names. “Closure?”

“Money.”

She grins. “Win-win.”

His smile is doting and it does funny things to her stomach. God, she’s gone over this man. Maybe it’s time to rethink the ‘secret’ part of their relationship. 

“Win-win indeed.”


	81. It's been 9 years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have the line "You know it's been nine years right?" and have these three items: A red lace thong, a pair of red boxer briefs and a kevlar vest. have him say he loves her from the beginning

It all ends with a sharp cry before his vision whites out and everything goes blank for a moment. Just a moment. 

It’s her breath that comes back first, the first sound his mind hears again. The feel of her is next, sprawled over his chest, arms tucked beside his head. Then he gets the feeling back in his arms, his legs, muscles still straining, the vague itch of sweat on his skin. He sighs. 

“I love you.”

She snorts. “Doesn’t count if you say it after sex.”

He’s sure she knows he’s rolling his eyes. “You know it’s been nine years, right?” 

She pushes up until he can see her face, soft in post-coital glow and adoration. “Ten next month.”

Ten years. 

A decade. 

It feels like no time at all and too much time, but what’s terrifying is he can still remember that first moment with absolute clarity, her at the side of the SUV, just unlatching her vest from their latest takedown. He remembers the strange sense of confidence, clarity, surety, right before he’d uttered the words, “We should get a drink sometime.”

And now here they are, sprawled across their bed, about to celebrate ten years together.  

Then she’s pushing herself up, climbing from the bed, a ball of renewed energy. It’s a habit he’s so used to now, one that’s still a bit adorable, even if he’d just like to lie prone for a while. He’s not as young as he used to be. 

Well, and watching her wander around their room naked collecting all of their scattered clothing. His suit gets draped over the chair, her dress already hanging in the closet. Her new lingerie set - a red baby doll and matching thong he’d almost ripped off her - get tossed into the hamper, his socks and matching boxers - “You’ve got to be kidding,” she’d whispered, laughing a little when she’d caught sight of them. “God, we match.” - going with them. 

She turns back to him and he knows what’s coming next. 

“Shower?”

He smiles, even as he watches her sashay into the bathroom. Maybe he’ll be able to convince her to go for round two in the shower. 


	82. You fainted… straight into my arms.

The room is spinning when Emily manages to pry her eyes open, lights still dancing enough that she forces them closed again. 

“Emily?”

She groans, but it gets her a grateful sigh of relief, the gentle brush of fingers over her neck, her shoulder. Her hand presses against her stomach and the tiny human no one knows is growing there. 

(It’s not her fault, okay? She’d been on the edge of telling him when the call had come in. And it’s not like she hasn’t already started shuffling things about, trading places with Dave for an interview, Morgan for a ‘hostile interview’. It’s just never been the right time.)

“Slow,” she hears Hotch say as she moves to sit up. A water bottle is thrust in her face and she forces her vision to clear long enough to give Reid a thankful smile. It softens to reassurance when she sees the genius wringing his hands. 

“M’okay,” she says, cracking open the water. She takes a few sips before she asks, “What happened?”

“You fainted,” Hotch answers quietly, hands spread on her thighs. “You sure you’re feeling okay?” 

“Of course,” she answers. “I uh.” She laughs and it’s only a little uncomfortable as she leans forward to rest her head on Hotch’s shoulder. “I’m pregnant.” 

Wholly not how she’d wanted to tell him. So far from how she wanted to tell him. He jolts beneath her, obviously startled and surprised. 

“You’re-”

She laughs again, this time a little awkward. 

“Emily-”

She gets that it’s overwhelming, more than he could ever know. “I’m pregnant,” she repeats, as much to hear herself say it for real as to repeat it to him. 

“Are- Are you okay?” she hears Reid say. She doesn’t dwell on the surprise that Reid’s the first to manage a full sentence, just offers him another smile. 

“Can you grab me a granola bar, maybe?” 

He’s so, so grateful to have a task she knows, and it leaves her with Hotch. “Hey.”

He cups her cheeks in his palms, locking his eyes on hers. “You’re sure?”

“Very.” She doesn’t tell him about all seven tests, doesn’t need to feel ridiculous about the whole thing. 

His hand goes to her stomach, strokes a little. “A baby.”

“A baby,” she agrees quietly, gently. “I-”

He takes her mouth before she can get the words out, get the question out, really. His kiss tells her everything, soothes her fears and worries, concerns that maybe this baby isn’t something he wants. From the way his hands press against her stomach, she highly doubts that’s the case. 

Finally they have to stop because his grin is too damn wide and it’s making kissing awkward. 

“You’re pregnant.”

This time when she laughs it’s joyful, a little hysterical and definitely amused. 

“Tell me again,” he demands. 

She grins, wide, bright, excited and terrified. “We’re going to have a baby.”


	83. Jacqueline

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hotchniss AU where Hotch has a Jacqueline (not a Jack) and has to introduce his little girl to Emily

She wants to be called Jack. 

Haley’s been dead almost six months when little Jacqueline announces this to her father. To be honest, Hotch doesn’t think much of it at the time. Haley’s always called her Jackie and he just, well. He figures Haley’s death and his daughter’s decision to change her name go hand in hand. 

The problem is that it kind of takes a while to get out of the habit. 

And that’s why, when Emily’s watching Jackie in Hotch’s office one PA day, the little girl explodes. 

“I’m not Jackie!”

Emily doesn’t jump, but she is startled. Not necessarily by the temper, she thinks, but by the passionate way it comes out of the child that is maybe fifty pounds soaking wet. 

“Oh?” 

Jackie, Jack, God, she doesn’t even know anymore, nods, shoving aside the picture she’s been drawing of her father hunting an UNSUB. Emily would be worried if it were the first time she’d done it, if Jackie had been manifesting her coping mechanisms in more dangerous ways. “I’m Jack.”

“Okay,” Emily says cautiously, taking a seat on Hotch’s couch. God, she is too old to sit on the floor. She eyes the little girl, fists balled at her sides. She recognizes the rebellion, of course, the temper too, both because this isn’t her first time with Miss Hotchner and because she’s seen that mutinous look on her own face before. “Why?”

“Because Jackie’s a  _girl’s_  name.”

“It is,” Emily says slowly. “When did that become a problem? Having a girl’s name, I mean.” 

The kid actually rolls her eyes. “Because girls can’t kick butt.”

That sends Emily’s eyebrow arching up faster than a blink. “I’m sorry?”

“George got to my mommy. Daddy’s always hunting people who hurt girls. Girls can’t do  _anything_.”

Oh. Oh, someone is going to get injured for this. Emily sighs and drops her head for a moment. “Can I ask you a question?” 

The girl pauses, as if sensing it’s not going to be an easy question to answer, then nods. 

“Do I kick butt?”

Jackie - now, given her answer, Emily feels more determined to make Haley’s name stick - goes utterly still. Good, Emily thinks. 

“You’re not a girl.”

“No?” Emily asks with a laugh. 

“You’re an agent.”

Ah. 

“I’m both,” Emily replies. “You’ve seen me in a dress. In high heels.’Girl things’.” She even uses air quotes.

Jackie’s forehead wrinkles. 

“What about Miss JJ? Does she kick butt?”

There’s a moment, then a nod. 

“And she likes to go and get her nails painted. She likes shopping.” She uses the air quotes again as she says, “’Girl things’.”

Jackie nods again.

“What about Miss Penelope?” 

Jackie’s eyes widen. Yeah, not a new one, the little bit of hero worship that comes with Penelope’s name. “Miss Penelope is cool.”

“She is, isn’t she,” Emily replies patiently. “And she  _never_  wears pants.”

Emily can see the realization as it spreads across Jackie’s face. She stands from the couch, moving to crouch in front of Jackie. She takes the little girl’s hands in her own. 

“You don’t have to be a boy to kick butt, Jackie,” Emily says quietly. “It’s not easy, I won’t sugar coat it for you, but you don’t need to be a boy to be amazing.” 

Jackie’s eyes are full of so very many emotions when she looks up at Emily. A moment later, the little girl pitches forward. Emily falls back with the impact, landing on her tailbone, but giving barely have a second’s consideration to the sharp pain. Jackie’s hard and harsh sobs are infinitely more important. 

“There you go,” Emily murmurs. “Let it out, sweetheart.”

When her sobs calm to hiccups, Emily tugs the girl back, meets her red, weary eyes head on. “Hey, listen to me for minute, okay?”

Jackie nods, eyes fixed. 

“Your mommy wasn’t weak,” Emily says, lets the passion of it seep in. “Your mommy was one of the strongest girls I know.”

It’s not a lie. It’s complicated, but it’s not a lie. Emily admires a lot of things about the late Mrs. Hotchner, not the least of which is standing in front of her now. 

“But she died.”

“That doesn’t make her weak,” Emily answers. “Your mommy fought for you, every day. She was there for you, for your daddy, even when things were really, really hard. Your mommy didn’t give up, even when George found you. She fought, Jackie. She kicked butt.”

“But it wasn’t enough.”

And this, Emily thinks, is where it get complicated. “It was more than enough, because she saved you. It takes a lot of bravery, a lot of strength to do that, Jackie. Like Miss JJ and Miss Penelope do. Like I do. Like Daddy does. And your mommy didn’t have to. But she  _did_. And that makes her amazing.”

Emily shifts her stance. “Jackie, sweetheart. Kicking butt doesn’t mean being an agent or being physically strong. Kicking butt is standing up for what you believe in, for loving the things in your life because they’re beautiful, not because someone tells you that you should. If you want to play with dolls, play with dolls. If you want to play with cars and trucks, you can do that too. 

“If you really want to be called Jack, we can work on it, but don’t make it about being a girl. Because you know what? You should be so very proud to be who you are, not trying to be someone else.”

Jackie buries her face in Emily’s shoulder, cuddles in closer, and that’s how Hotch finds them, curled up on the floor. 

“Jack? Jack, sweetheart, is everything okay?”

Jackie raises her little head and meets her father’s gaze. “Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“I, uh.” There’s a pause. “I think it’s okay if you still want to call me Jackie.”

Emily beams.


	84. We’re in the middle of a thunderstorm and you wanna stop and feel the rain?

Everything about them is a tired, stressed out mess. It happens, of course, because sometimes there are months where it feels like the serial killers have scheduled themselves so neatly the BAU never seems to make it home. Emily, for one, can’t remember the last time she was in her apartment for more than five minutes, never mind the last time she’d slept in her own bed. 

And to top it off, the weather in Kansas has been absolute shit. 

So really, she has no idea why she reaches over to grasp Hotch’s wrist and tells him to pull over on the side of an isolated road in the middle of a thunderstorm. She just knows she has this need to just… stop. 

“Are you alright?”

She manages a smile as she reaches for the door handle. This time he’s the one to reach for her, to wrap his fingers around her wrist. “What are you doing?”

Emily looks out at the thin winding road, the utter downpour they’ve been driving in and grins. “I’m going out to feel the rain.”

She’s half way out of the car when he says, “We’re in the middle of no where - we’re in the middle of a  _thunderstorm_  - and you want to stop and feel the rain?” 

“Well,” she says, feeling the real smile that slowly stretches across her face. “Yeah.”

She’s soaked in a matter of minutes as she leans back against the head of the car. Her eyes close as she tilts her head back and feels the drops splash across her face. For a moment, there isn’t a damn thing in the world that matters, just the feel of the rain, the sound of it in the forest around them. 

Then she hears the slam of the car door and her eyes pop open. 

“Hotch,” she says on a laugh, watching him round the front of the SUV. “Get back in the car. There’s no reason both of us should get sick.”

He doesn’t listen, most certainly isn’t listening as he palms her hip and cups her neck. Then to her utter astonishment he leans down and kisses her. 

There’s nothing sweet or delicate about it. He kisses her like it’s been on his mind forever, like he’s been dreaming of this moment. Her hands cup his face as she kisses him back because she has dreamt of this, his mouth, his taste, the feel of him…

“What was that?” she manages when they pull away. 

The corner of his mouth kicks up in a smile of sorts and his thumb strokes fleetingly over her lower lip. “You look beautiful in the rain.”


	85. Grocery Shopping / Marry Me / First Huge Fight

They learn very quickly they should not go shopping together. 

The first time they do is… Insane. To say the least. 

Emily pulls out her phone the minute they step through the supermarket doors, calling up her list and skimming it quickly.

“Okay. Produce first, then dairy, then meat. That should do it.”

Hotch, who has grabbed a cart and, oh God, a flyer, hums indecisively. “Soup’s on sale. We should go down that aisle. Jack mentioned peas last week, too.”

She mentally adds frozen food to her aisle list. “Soup’s at the beginning of aisle two, we should be able to skip the whole thing.”

“Sauces and dressings are down there,” he argues. 

“We don’t need either of those things.”

“We should check them out.”

She glares at him as he starts towards the produce and watches in horror as he goes down the first aisle, then turns immediately into the second. 

Oh no. 

Oh. Hell. No. 

“Hotch. We have a list.”

He looks up from the bananas he’s inspecting, his eyebrow raised in confusion. “Of the things we need. Do these bananas look good?”

“You and Jack don’t eat bananas.”

“In Cheerios,” he argues, though he puts the bananas down. 

“They’re not on the list.”

“Not everything is going to be on the list.”

“Hotch. We’re not spending an hour in the grocery store while you go down every aisle,” she says in exasperation. “This is why we make a list.”

“We make a list to make sure we don’t forget things,” he replies, bagging a couple of apples. At least those will get eaten. 

“We make a list to make things efficient,” she argues, her hands going to her hips even as she follows him to the lettuce. 

He looks up at her, offers a bit of a cheeky grin. “Where’s your sense of adventure?” 

By the end, she’s almost been run over four times - how the hell does he manage to manoeuvre through all of the damn carts?! - literally growled at the woman behind the meat counter, and come up with twenty-six creative ways to kill him using things found in a grocery store. 

It isn’t until they’re in the car, groceries in the back that she fixes him with her deadliest look and says, “We are never grocery shopping together again.”

* * *

**Marry Me.**

“Marry me.”

Her arm stings from a bullet graze. He’s cradling his shoulder from a nasty stumble down a set of stairs. It’s the worst comedy of errors, so insane that it has to be funny or she thinks she’s going to cry. 

“You’re kidding me,” she says on an awkward laugh. “You have to be kidding me.”

“No,” he answers, eyes alight. Adrenaline, love, admiration, it’s all there, bright and clear. “Marry me.”

“We’re in the middle of a gunfight, you have a dislocated shoulder, we could _die_  and you’re asking me to marry you?” 

“Is there a better time?” 

She drops her head back against the wall, ducks it forward again as a hail of bullets race past her head. “At a restaurant? At home after dinner? Somewhere cozy and normal?”

He slips his palm to her cheek. “We are cornered in a basement in the middle of a forest with no cell signal. We could die.”

She groans. “I don’t want to say yes to a proposal you made because you think we’re not getting out of here.”

“So say yes because it’s what you want.”

She barks out a laugh, gets a spray of bullets for her trouble and shakes her head at him. Then she smiles. “Yes.”

* * *

**First Huge Fight**

“I am still mad at you.”

“Hotch, you’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m not. I warned you, from the beginning.”

“Hotch-”

“I told you it was a deal breaker. I told you right from the beginning that if you so much as-”

“I said I was sorry!”

“You  _promised!”_

“I know I did. I remember it, I just-”

“You spoiled Doctor Who!”

Emily sighs, cups Hotch’s cheeks in her palm. “And I promise I will never, ever, ever do it again.”

He watches her for a moment. “If you spoil Doctor Who again, I will ruin The Walking Dead.”

“You wouldn’t.”

His eyebrow arches. “Try me.”

 


	86. Who is Sergio?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hotch doesn't know that sergio's emily's cat and begins to question her about her 'relationship' really awkwardly and they end up kissing or some silly fluffly situation!!!

“Who is he?”

“Sorry?”

Hotch frowns, glances into his glass. The team’s out, celebrating (he’s starting to realize they don’t need a reason, it’s just something they do when they need a break), scattered across the bar. He’s still at the table, nursing his first beer and a healthy dose of irritation. 

He shouldn’t care. He doesn’t have the right to care. He really, seriously, should not be allowed to care. In so many ways. 

But he does. 

He really, really does. 

“Who is he?”

“He who?” 

God, she’s even got her head tilted to the side in the way he finds so attractive, in the way that makes him want to wrap her up, make her laugh, hold her close. 

“Sergio.”

There’s a moment, then disbelief washes over her features. The laughter comes next, from the bottom of her stomach, lighting up her face. He is not pouting. He does not pout. He does not pout because he has no claim and if she has a man in her life then he has to let it go. She deserves that. 

“Hotch.”

She’s standing now by his side of the booth’s bench, smiling down at him with this look that makes him feel like an idiot, but like she thinks he’s a really cute stray puppy. 

“Sergio’s my cat.” She’s smirking and he hates it because he feels so, so incredibly stupid. Then she’s holding out her hand. “But since who he is seems to matter to you so much, you should probably take my hand and dance with me.”

He does.


	87. Panic Attack pre-Doyle

She slips into the storage closet in the nick of time.

The door slams behind her (she should care, someone will find her and that is actually and literally the last thing she wants right now) but God, she needs to be able to catch her breath before she can care. And she can’t. She can’t breath. Her chest hurts, her lungs burn and she can feel the tears leaking out of her eyes. 

Lauren Reynolds. 

She’d been sure she’d put it all away. She’d been sure she’d packed it up in a nice little box that she would never, ever, ever bring up again. It’s too bad Ian Doyle and the BAU hadn’t gotten that memo. 

And now that name, that God damn name is pinned on the board in front of her entire team. 

She feels like everything is turning on it’s head, ever well-crafted piece of her personality, every piece of her personality she’s pushed under the table… It’s redacted, sure, but she does not like her chances. Not when it comes to the tenacity of the BAU and the absolute terror that Doyle evokes in any intelligent law enforcement agency. 

The first sob is entirely choked off. The inhale almost makes her choke. The next sob hurts everywhere. 

“Emily.”

Oh God. Oh God no. Not him. Anyone but him. 

“Away.” It’s all she can manage to get out as she swings her arm at him. “Away.”

But he doesn’t go. Of course he doesn’t go. He catches her hand, holds fast and her chest releases. The sobs are deep and hard and  _everything_. She barely has the strength to slide down the wall, to manage to breathe through the sobs let alone fight him off. 

“Emily.”

He’s not making her feel any better. His arms feel like he’s suffocating her, and she scrabbles to get him off, to get space, to get breath. 

“Okay, okay.”

She expects him to walk away, to move away, maybe to call someone else, to shuffle her off on someone like JJ who deals with traumatized victims. But Hotch doesn’t move away. He reaches out instead, wraps his fingers around her ankle. 

“I’m going to squeeze, okay? I’m going to squeeze your ankle. Think you can breathe as long as I squeeze? In when it’s tight, out when it’s loose.”

She shakes her head. No. No she can’t. 

“Yes you can.” His voice is smooth, is calm. “Ready?”

She shakes her head violently, harshly, enough that between the sobs and the fact that air is so incredibly precious, leaves her dizzy and the world more than a bit foggy around the edges. 

“Okay, in… 2… 3. And out.”

It takes time, but three becomes four, and four becomes five, and by then her eyes are clear and her breath is coming easier. He’s shifted in the process, slid against the wall beside her instead of in front of her. When his brain clears, she can feel the heat of his shoulder against hers, his thigh. 

It’s still a couple of minutes before he speaks.

“Do you know her?” Hotch asks quietly. His eyes are dark earnest. “Lauren Reynolds.”

Her hand clenches on his wrist. He squeezes her ankle and she breathes with it again, in five beats, out for five beats. He does it again. Then a third time. 

“Do you know Lauren Reynolds?”

This time, she’s the one who breathes, totally on her own, before red-rimmed eyes come up to meet his. 

“Hotch. I am Lauren Reynolds.”


	88. We'll always have Sundays

Sundays are his favourite days. 

On Sundays, he and Jack cuddle together on the couch and Skype with Emily. Well, as many Sundays as they can anyway. All three of them live busy lives; friends and jobs and activities can and have managed to upend their Sundays, but whenever they can, as often as they can, Emily catches up with her Hotchners. 

_“Did Jack tell you he kissed a girl this week?”_  
_“No! Jack!”_  
_“Her names Natalie. She kissed my cheek. I didn’t want her to.”_  
_“So what did you do?”_  
_“Ran away.”  
_ _“That’s my boy.”_

They’re relaxing, these hours on Skype, these afternoons that they meander away with updates and debates and conversations. Movies and friends, stories and political shifts. Whatever comes to mind. Sometimes it’s just Jack, sometimes it’s just Hotch and sometimes, when Emily can’t make it, Hotch and Jack send her a picture of their sad faces. 

She always sends one back. 

_“Sorry about last week.”_  
_“You’re a busy woman. It’s to be expected.”_  
_“Perhaps, but I don’t have to like it.”_  
_“Well, in the interest of full disclosure, we weren’t really fans either.”  
_ _“Good.”_

He likes keeping up with her life. He likes that she still feels like she needs to make that connection with him, with Jack. He knows she emails Reid and Morgan, will exchange phone calls and telephone tag voicemails with Dave and that she will video chat with Penelope and JJ from time to time, but Sundays are theirs. Sundays are reserved for them. He knows that out of all of the team, he’s the one she really keeps up with, the one she really makes the effort for. 

He does everything he can to nurture that. Sometimes it’s funny videos of the team – and wouldn’t they be utterly and pleasantly surprised just how good he’s become at trolling them – sometimes coded emails asking for her help and opinion on a case. She always, always gets back to him. 

 _“Bad case?”_  
_“Yeah. You know how they are.”_  
_“I do. Hey, have you guys managed to get around to_ The Blue Planet _yet?”_  
_“No.”  
__“Put it on. We’ll watch together.”_

It’s not perfect, it’s not what he’d prefer, but he’ll never ask her back, they both know that. He’ll never ask her to give up the promotion of the job, the coup in Interpol and he knows that moving Jack will be a chore and a half. But more than that, he knows that he’s let the moment pass him by, he’s let the woman pass him by. 

He wishes he could say she’s the one who got away, but he’d never had her to begin with. 

_“I wish you were here.”_  
_“I know. Me too.”_  
_“Are you happy there?”_  
_“Yes.”_  
_“You know that’s all I want.”_  
_“That doesn’t mean I don’t miss you. Terribly.”  
_ _“No. I’m glad you do.”_

He likes Sundays because they are his time with her, they are his islands in the terribly rough currents of his life. They are stability and safety and an entirely different kind of love. 

_“Have you found someone?”_  
_“Yes.”_  
_“Someone attainable?”_  
_“No.”_  
_“Aaron.”_  
_“Emily.”_  
_“You need someone to love you. You need someone for Jack.”_  
_“I have everything I need.”_  
_“And what about what you want?”_  
_“I can’t have it. The same way I won’t take it.”_  
_“You can’t be alone. You’re unbearable when you’re alone.”_  
_“I’m not alone. I’m never alone. I have Sundays.”_  
_“You’ll always have Sundays.”  
_ _“So will you.”_

It’s a lie to say that to her, to promise her Sundays are enough. Sundays will never be enough, not for what he wants, not for what he needs. 

But it’s all he’s willing to take. It’s all he’ll ask of her. 

He will make it enough.


	89. Sad, sad, sad Emily

She’s been so sad. 

He knows she doesn’t realize someone’s noticed but sometimes, sometimes he looks up to find her sitting on the couch of the conference room, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring out into the rain and she looks so cold, so lonely. 

So sad. 

And it’s one of those moments that leaves him leaning against the doorway during one of their slower times, watching her. 

“Sometimes, I think I haven’t left.”

Of course she’d known he was there. He thinks maybe her awareness is beyond high alert, her mind still trying to juggle and understand, process that Doyle is no longer alive. There’s no longer any good reason to keep looking over her shoulder like there’s going to be a gun pointed at her head when she turns the next corner. 

“I wake up with my hand under my pillow, looking for a gun I have to force myself to tuck into my bedside table. I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin. I have to check every lock in my apartment, make sure every window is closed. I have to remind myself that he’s gone, that he’s not coming back. That I’m safe.”

He’s quiet for a moment, waiting, considering. “I still sleep with a gun under my pillow.”

That brings her gaze around, awareness and understanding in every line of her body. He offers her a bit of a shaky smile. He knows they forget, sometimes, just what he’s been through, the horror and worry and looking over his own shoulder every day for eighteen months. He steps closer. 

“Sometimes I wake up and I think he’s still there, that I’m still on the carpet waiting for the next thrust of the knife through my skin. Sometimes I spend three hours just watching Jack sleep trying to remind myself that I didn’t lose him.”

“But you stay.”

Of course he does, he wants to tell her. Where else would he go? What else would he do? He owes it to Jack to fight every day, to show him that his father can be the hero Jack wants him to be, that Hotch needs to be for his son. He owes it to Haley to make sure that there aren’t any more children who lose their parents to psychopaths. 

“I have a job to do.”

Her eyes turn sad again, the hope fading. “And when it’s not enough?”

He’s surprised at the sting of the words, the desolation in her face. He thinks it may be the first time he’s looked at her and seriously considered the idea that the BAU is no longer her home. It may be the first time he’s ever looked at her and been utterly unsure of how to help her. 

So the only thing he has for her is the truth. 

“In this job, I’m not sure anything ever is.”

She gives him a nod before her eyes turn sad again, turn back to the window to watch the rain come down. He has the sudden feeling that she’s slipping away from him, slipping away from them. 

He’s not sure he can stop her. 


	90. Haley notices there's something up

The thing about being with the same man since high school is that Haley _knows_. Not in the sense of “she knows everything about him” - they are divorced, after all - but as a woman who has known him the better part of thirty years, it really only takes eyes for her to realize that her ex-husband has someone in his life. 

(And looks, she’s been talking to a therapist, okay? She’s not nearly as bitter about the divorce as she was and she really, genuinely only wants the father of her son and the man who gave her a lot of really good years to be happy. She can totally admit that.)

The other thing? Haley is entirely unsurprised about who this person is. If Emily Prentiss was hoping to hide how she feels about the man half-high in the hospital bed between them, she’s doing an utterly abysmal job of it. 

He’s fallen asleep, drugs and his body knocking him out while they wait for Witness Protection. She’s stroking at the bedsheets and Emily’s - because they’ve hung out together and Haley genuinely likes the other woman - fingers are twitching where she’s folded them in front of her and Haley sighs. 

“You’re not a very good liar, you know.”

It’s a little confrontational, but that kind of ‘addressing the elephant’ style is what had always worked best on Aaron. So when Emily’s startled gaze rises to hers, Haley offers something that may have once resembled a smile. 

(She’s about to go into Witness Protection, okay? Just her and Jack, with literally no other member of her support system because there is a serial killer targeting her to get at Aaron. She’d always known his job was dangerous, but this is legitimately freaking her out.

She’s allowed to forgo some social graces.)

“Some unsolicited advice? Woman to woman.”

Emily doesn’t say anything, but there’s a minute nod there. 

“Don’t let him push you away. Don’t let him hide from you. Because he will.”

“I know. He already does,” Emily reveals, and this time there is  _so much more emotion_ in her face as she looks down at Aaron. Haley’s surprised when that intensity is fixed on her a moment later. “You will always be a part of his life. A part of his heart.”

“I know,” Haley murmurs because she does. Theirs isn’t a love that is just forgotten or overshadowed. “But he doesn’t need me anymore.”

It takes a moment, but then awareness sparks in Emily’s face, awareness and gratitude and understanding. A moment later a passionate determination spreads over her face and Haley’s greeted to the singular personality trait that likely drew Aaron to this woman to begin with. 

“We’ll find him, Haley.”

Haley swallows and nods, looks down at the man she’d given thirty years to. “Don’t lose him in the process,” she says. 

(Just because they’ve split doesn’t mean she doesn’t still love him.)

“Don’t let him lose himself.”

“I promise. I swear.”

Haley believes her.


	91. poison ivy

_You’d think after all those years camping I’d remember what poison ivy looks like._

He chuckles to himself at her text message, at the picture of the red rash on her hands and arms. Then his phone chimes again. 

_Dave says it knows better because he’s Italian._

He smiles as he taps the screen to reply. She does this, texts in spurts and it drives him crazy. 

(He likes that she texts him though, like she can’t help herself. They’ve built this strange hybrid relationship thing where she is his support in the insanity that has become his life and she is, well, her texting buddy. 

At all hours. 

About all subjects. 

He doesn’t want to talk about the time she binged a documentary on the Mafia in America in a bout of insomnia. It’s still her holding record for number of texts in a twelve hour span.)

_Calamine lotion?_

Those three dots appear. Then a moment later:  _By the gallon._

He makes a strange sighing laugh then climbs in the car. Looks like he’s going to have to stop at the drug store. 

(The rash climbs her arms, but he’s more than happy to help her spread the lotion up to her elbows and over her biceps. She rails against her own stupidity the whole time, then about Dave and even the rerun of a cop show - that she takes great pride in ripping to shreds - doesn’t distract her. 

So he sighs because he adores the fact that she can rant to him - trust much? - but he has paperwork and he’d thought about going over their profile again and…

But then she turns such pleading eyes on him and says, “This is dumb.” and he knows he’s not going anywhere.)


End file.
